In the Still of the Night

 While returning from a hospital visit at Shelby Baptist in Alabaster, I ran into torrential downpour on Interstate 65.  My windshield wipers could not remove the water fast enough.  I started to pull off to the side of the Interstate, but I was in the left lane and could not see anything.  When I slowed, I could hear cars beside me and behind me.  The last thing I wanted was to wreck in the rain, especially from the rear.

It was not long until I realized I was behind an eighteen-wheeler that was moving at a slow speed.  Every once in a while, I could see the outline of the trailer.  What I could see was his taillights. So, for what seemed as a long journey in darkness, I followed the red glow of his rear lights.

You have to be careful when you are following people.  The other day I led the funeral procession for Ms. Marlene Downey from the O’Bryant Funeral Home in Thomasville to the Old Union Baptist Church Cemetery.  When I was a young pastor and led my first funeral procession, the funeral home director told me not to run but forty to forty-five miles an hour.  He said the cars behind me and will always be running too fast trying to catch up.

When I pulled out from the funeral home, I was in the lead.  I think that mentality has carried over when I run up and down the highway.  I hate what they call wolf packs on the highway.  You know that when cars get in a group.  I will either lack behind or let them get out of the way, or I will pretend I am at Talladega Speedway and get far ahead.

The other day coming home from my uncle’s wake at my home church in Randolph; I had a person riding my bumper with his headlights on bright.  On a long straight I slowed where the dude could pass.  Thinking back, he might have been lost in the wilderness and was following my taillights back into civilization.  That is if one can say Selma is civilized.  He slowed too.  I finally pulled to the side and stopped.  He did too for a second and then pulled away.

Traveling in a caravan on the Bethel Baptist Builders trip is always fun.  The caravan seems like a Cannon Ball Run.  The Cannon Ball Run is where sports car drivers are racing across country to see who can have the best time from say from Los Angles to Miami.  Every Bethel Builder, with the exception of a slow poke or two, are racing to see who has the best time getting to the job site and who can return home in the fastest time without getting a ticket.  Oh yes, they have Bethel Baptist Builders magnetic signs on the sides of the vehicles.

Sometimes out of necessity, we do things that are I say, wrong.  Several years ago when I was pastor up at Gallion Baptist Church, I had to retrieve my old GMC pickup from my cousin who was also my mechanic.  I needed a driver.  I recruited my thirteen, maybe fourteen-year-old son Aaron.  Before embarking on the 100-mile journey from Montevallo to Gallion, I told Aaron, who was always up to the challenge to do something he was not supposed to do, to drive my Honda Accord and follow close to the truck.  Aaron was tall enough to pass for an adult.  My worry was what to do if we were pulled over by an officer of the law. 

We mapped out our journey by traveling all the back roads to Uniontown.  Highway 183 from Maplesville to Uniontown was foggy.  I told Aaron to stay close to me.  We drove the long journey slowly.  The twelve-mile journey from Uniontown to Gallion was the stretch I dreaded the most.  We made the journey in the still of the night without any problems.

Now, before you pass judgment too quickly.  Aaron was a very good driver.  He learned the skills of driving by bush hogging, go carting, riding ATVs, and riding around Gallion.  I knew he could do it.  Because I trusted him, he trusted me.

Aaron and I have fond memories of that night and one day he will have trouble explaining that to his boys when they want to drive before they are old enough.  That night is a sweet memory and one I thank God that we made it.

When Jesus discipled his followers, He admonished them to take up the cross and follow Him.  Paul in his letter to the church at Corinth encourages believers to be followers of God and walk in love.

 

Be ye therefore followers of God, as dear children; And walk in love, as Christ also hath loved us, and hath given himself for us an offering and a sacrifice to God for a sweetsmelling savour (I Corinthians 5:1-2 KJV).

 

Let me encourage you to be followers of Jesus.

Bumps Ahead

 

The other day I was spending some time alone by riding in West Alabama and East Mississippi.  I did not have any particular place to go or to be.  I wanted to meditate as I drove.  Each time I came to an intersection I would think a minute then turn.

I was traveling in places I had never been before.

Most of the traveling was smooth for my little Honda.  I like driving my old truck, but it takes too much expensive gas to joy ride in it, but it is more comfortable.  I drove without the radio or CD playing.  I just wanted to watch, observe, and listen to God.

Not knowing where I was or where I was going was uncannily soothing.  I was not lost because I knew that if I went north, I would intersect at I 59.  If I continued west, I would be in Meridian.  If I traveled south, I would intersect US Hwy 84.  If I went back east, there would be Alabama Highway 17.

Somewhere in East Mississippi, I was reminded of home.  The roads were deplorable.  They were worst than anything we had up home including red dirt roads and converted pig trails, but it was east Mississippi.  There were no signs to let you know where you were.  I thought I might have changed commissioner districts.  Used to be up home, commissioners responsible for our “red” neck of the woods could care less if we had good roads.  The commissioners claimed lack of money.  When they did get money, they would spray tar and cover it with crushed limestone that was excellent sand blasting material for pulverizing windshields, stripping chrome bumpers, and removing paint.

The poor commissioners did not repair potholes or ditches in the road when putting in drainpipes.   I hit a pothole in the town of Thorsby one time that caused my tire to go flat.  I thought I ruined the tire only to find I ruined a tire and the rim.  This highway was worse than Chilton County.

The landscape was very familiar until I saw something redneck that we do not have up home.  There was a fencerow that baseball caps adorned the top of the fence posts.  I noticed that the caps were Alabama and Auburn caps.  That is not unusual for East Mississippi, but it got me to thinking about the change in the road a couple miles back.  I paid attention to the car tags of the next house and discovered I was in Choctaw County Alabama.  I asked the Lord to forgive me for thinking bad thoughts about the poor poverty, last in everything, State of Mississippi.  I thought about it a moment and realized that the County tag for Chilton is 14 and the one for Choctaw is 15 and suddenly everything in the world made sense even the identical highway connecting Magnolia to Lamison.  I am getting scared to make a church visit to Lamison in my small Honda.  I am afraid if I don’t disappear in a hole, the potholes are going to destroy my front end.  But I get the same sensation when travel State Highway 183 from Union Town to Marion only poor Perry County has paved that highway three or four times in the past sixteen years.

I continued on the road, it carried me to South Choctaw Academy in Toxey, then Gilbertown where I crossed the railroad tracks and started back on my journey into uncharted territory in search of peace, meditation, and dinner.

I saw a sign with Welcome to Mississippi. Other signs warned of road closure, lane closure, flagman ahead, slower traffic keep right, and detours, low shoulder, and bump ahead.  I can testify that there was a bump, but it was a long way from the sigh. On my journey to “find myself”, I found that there were very few places that were different from where I have been.  I found myself at a catfish restaurant in Stateline, Mississippi. I found the people nice, the patrons friendly, and the catfish delicious.  In Stateline, I thought about the gecko in the GIECO commercial where he is jumping from Tennessee to Virginia.  When I turned left, the highway changed tunes and I saw the Sweet Home Alabama sign.

I drove slowly and thought about the things I saw.  I crossed over rivers and creeks that continue their journey endlessly flowing since the Lord created them.  I saw empty towns, houses, and land that were once productive now sitting idle and forgotten.  I saw large homes, small homes, new homes, rundown homes, mobile homes, and nursing homes. 

I saw a wreck or two and people helping.  I saw people in a hurry and some like me that were poking along.  There were the courteous drivers and the road rage maniacs.  There were safe drivers and the idiots that pass on hills and on double yellow lines.  There were new things and plenty of the same. 

In my time alone, God was showing that life is a journey and the road will have its challenges.  As we journey into a new year, we can expect the unexpected.   Every year I pray the New Year will be better than the last.  In some ways, it is, but there are ways that are as my journey. 

I pray that we travel the road God gives us with confidence and it will be a great journey regardless of the bumps.  I remind myself to thank God for roads, which remind of life.

 

The voice of him that crieth in the wilderness, Prepare ye the way of the Lord, make straight in the desert a highway for our God.  Every valley shall be exalted, and every mountain and hill shall be made low: and the crooked shall be made straight, and the rough places plain:  And the glory of the Lord shall be revealed, and all flesh shall see it together: for the mouth of the Lord hath spoken it (Isaiah 40:3-5 KJV).

Running

Several years back I went for a checkup on my knee replacement.  The doctors gave a great report.  I asked if I could continue walking seeing some people that have had knee replacement were told they could not walk for exercise but told to ride a bicycle.

The doc said walking would be good.  I told them that I did not want to wear it out prematurely.  They responded that the titanium knee would last me the rest of my life.  I responded that I had hoped to live to be an old man!  They assured me that it would last and to return to whatever I was doing.

I asked them if I could jog.  At one time, I was jogging three miles every other day.  Every once in a while, I would jog seven miles.  Doing that two days in a row, I decided to stick with the three miles.

I remember jogging one morning when a deacon from my church pulled along side of me.  He smarted by saying, “It don’t matter how much you plowed the mule, he’ll stay fat if you continue to stall feed him.  You need to push back from the table.”  I said, “I jog to eat.”

Back to the doctors.  I asked them what things can I do and they said anything.  I asked if I could play tennis.  They said yes, preferably with partners.  I asked if I could run, they said sure.  I begged please say I cannot run!

Running for me is a sign of punishment.  I remember having to run extra laps when doing something wrong in football.  We had to run when we lost, when practice was not suitable to the coach, when we missed a block or a tackle, and we ran to satisfy the coach.

It is hard for me to justify running, especially since both knees went bad.  I have done my share of running.  I have run chasing pigs, ponies, cows, chickens, and all kinds of animals.  I have run to catch footballs, baseballs, basketballs, and tennis balls.  I have run to catch a ride, to get help, and to be on time.  I have run from rattlesnakes, Doberman pinchers, and bumblebees.  I even ran from girls at one time and ran after them later.

I heard evangelist Jerry Pipes say that he quit running stating is was fruitless.  His reasoning was that God gives us so many heartbeats and he did not want to waste his running.  I agree whole-heartedly.  I wasted two good knees and no telling how many days I took off my life.

I tell people that I don’t run any more.  If you see me running, it’s gonna be real bad.  I have just returned to two miles of walking most days.  Six months later I had my left knee replaced and had to start the walking all over again.

I was out walking my two miles one day when by neighbor came running by me.  I told him I remember when I used to run.  I shook my head thinking to myself, what a waste of heartbeats.  You can get a high running.  The body releases endorphins that act like painkillers.  When I ran, I felt that I could compete in the Olympics.  That was the endorphins doing the thinking.

I worry about folks that run all the time.  I not talking about running here and there, but those people in their funny looking shorts, jerseys, and footwear that run, run, run.  They, along with bicyclists, are kinda weird.  I think they too have had just a little too many endorphins.

Running is a young person thing, but every once in while you read about some senior adult that has had an overdose of endorphins and they run.  Seeing senior adults in running apparel can be an ugly site.  There are things that just ain’t right.

In ancient times, it was considered very undignified for a senior man to run.  Aristotle expressed the same Shibboleth: “Great men never run in public.”  Shibboleth means belief or custom that distinguishes one group from another.  All I know is if I see a senior adult running, I gotta see what’s chasing him or her.

When you think about Aristotle’s quote, it makes us look at the Father in the story of the prodigal son in a different light: I will arise and go to my father, and will say unto him, Father, I have sinned against heaven, and before thee, and am no more worthy to be called thy son: make me as one of thy hired servants.  And he arose, and came to his father. But when he was yet a great way off, his father saw him, and had compassion, and ran, and fell on his neck, and kissed him.  And the son said unto him, Father, I have sinned against heaven, and in thy sight, and am no more worthy to be called thy son. But the father said to his servants, Bring forth the best robe, and put it on him; and put a ring on his hand, and shoes on his feet: And bring hither the fatted calf, and kill it; and let us eat, and be merry: For this my son was dead, and is alive again; he was lost, and is found. And they began to be merry (Luke 18-24 KJV).

In a period when everyone wants to feel warm and fuzzy about church, Jesus reminds those that listen about repentance.  We must return to the Father.

Jesus reminds us in the parable that the Father, who is a picture of God, ran as fast and as quickly as he could to express the longing of his heart to welcome his son home.  Did you get it?  God runs to us.  Our willing to return to the Father unleashes His immense, incalculable responsiveness.

Something Is Not Right

Have you ever had that funny feeling that something is missing.  My late uncle Clifton, my favorite, had one of those moments.

Uncle Clifton lived in Beloit, Illinois for years and moved down the road to Rockton.  After several years, he decided to add another room to his house.  He took his time to measure and plan out his new addition.  He dug the footing, poured the concrete, and pulled string to designate where to place the cinder block addition.

Uncle Clifton laid two rows of blocks and took a satisfied look at his handiwork.  Something did not look right.  He checked and the blocks were level, the corners were square, and the walls were straight.  Still puzzled, he knew that something was not kosher, but laid another couple of rows and stepped back to admire his artisanship.

There was something wrong, but he could not put his finger on it.  Once again, he checked, the walls were straight, the corners were square, and the blocks were level.

Sensing something was wrong, he asked an old Jewish friend to give a second opinion.  This old Jewish man took uncle Clifton in and loved him as the son he never had.

The old man studied uncle Clifton’s construction with the eye of an inspector.  He told Uncle Clifton that something was wrong and asked if the walls were straight.  They pulled a line and they were.  He asked if the corners were square.  They placed a square in the corners and found them to be perfect.  He asked if the blocks were level and after placing a level atop the block walls, found them almost perfectly level.

As they both stepped back with a puzzled look, the Jewish friend asked my uncle, “Where are the doors and windows?”  There were none.  Uncle Clifton and the Jewish man entered the addition from the house.  Uncle Clifton had to remove blocks to have windows and doors.

Failure to see something is missing happens to all of us.  If you remember, one year I grew a mustache and beard to play Santa.  I had several people say that it made me look younger, some said older, and some said I looked like a college professor.  I had several lady friends that said I looked handsome, I think they need glasses, but I was not married to them.  The wife hated it.

Hating to shave, I liked the new look for a while.  Folks said I looked like the late country singer Charlie Rich.  Others said I looked like Kenny Rogers.  I always asked, “Kenny before or after the facelift?”

Before long, I was spending as much time trimming the beard and mustache as it took to shave.  The wife was persistent in wanting me to shave so I did.  You know what?  I did not say anything for three days to see if she noticed.  She did not.  In fact, we were headed out of town when I asked if she noticed anything missing.  She responded with “nope.”  I said I shaved three days ago.

Last week’s blog I said that if I received a vicious letter, I would check to see if the letter writer was bold enough to sign his or her name.  If a signature is missing, I will not read it.  Well, something was missing originally.  When I write an article, I email it to Pam the Bethel Baptist Association Secretary.  She cuts and pastes it from my Microsoft Word program to her Publisher program where the Alabama Baptist can print it for you the faithful reader.  Pam and I will proof it, but mistakes are made and things are left out as we try to fit the article into the limited space that becomes the back page.

As Paul Harvey would say, “Here is the rest of the story.”  The suggestions for dealing with vicious people were not there:

 Dr. Andy Westmoreland, former president of Samford University makes these suggestions for dealing with vicious people.

Boldly Resist:  Then answered one of the lawyers, and said unto him, Master, thus saying thou reproaches us also.  And he said, Woe unto you also, ye lawyers! for ye lade men with burdens grievous to be borne, and ye yourselves touch not the burdens with one of your fingers. Luke 11:45-46

Negotiate:  Agree with thine adversary quickly, whiles thou art in the way with him; lest at any time the adversary deliver thee to the judge, and the judge deliver thee to the officer, and thou be cast into prison.  Matthew 5:25

Turn the other cheek: But I say unto you, That ye resist not evil: but whosoever shall smite thee on thy right cheek, turn to him the other also. Matthew 5:38

Oh, another thing.  I did receive a note to shave that silly beard of my face.  It was signed, but I did not shave it until I was ready.

 

Vicious People

There have been some vicious people in the world.  Vicious people have killed millions I i  of people and destroyed nations. People can be vicious, especially church folks. 

There was a tall frail lady in one of our churches that always had to comment on my size when I made a church visit.  I know that I am larger than the average person, especially tall frail ladies.  After about the third or fourth time, or it could have been on a Sunday that I really did not want to accept insults, I smarted back to her.  She said, “You are too big, you need to lose weight.”  For a minute, I thought I was at the doctor’s office.  He always says that I need to lose weight.

I smarted back to her by saying, “Listen you remind me of my Honda Civic with a little four-cylinder engine.  It is cheap on gas, but I am like the big eight-cylinder in my pickup oioh ok I’m sorry but pop l BC job.  I am bigger and stronger than you are and I require more fuel to get around than you do.

When I have lost weight, there are those vicious little ladies, both church and extended family that crush our spirits.  I am feeling proud to have lost fifteen pounds and they say, “Whew, you shore have gotten fat.”  Us fat people got feelings!

As long as we go along and contribute to their fulfillment and pleasure, they tolerate us.  Watch out if you get in their way.  I try to know God’s love and purpose.  Without that assurance, facing vicious people can be a hopeless and terrifying experience.

It has been a long time but I received a vicious letter.  No, it was not directed at me, but to me.  I learned a long time ago to see who sent or wrote the letter before I read it.  A preacher friend told me a long time ago that upon receiving vicious mail, check to see who wrote the letter.  If it is not signed, tear it up immediately.  He said you won’t have the temptation to read it if you destroy it.  His reasoning was that if the perpetrator was a coward if he or she did not sign it.  He said if a letter is not signed, I do not read it.  I have lived by that principle for years.

Seeing that the letter and packet of material was defamatory to the character of a co-laborer in Christ and was not signed, I promptly sealed the package and disposed of it.  I had a pretty good feeling who sent it and what they were trying to do the ministry of a Godly man.

As the devil would have it, I was in revival the week I penned the article.  After preaching Monday night, I received a card in the mail.  I noticed that there was no return address and a note on the back of the envelope.  It was an odd message, but I got the jest of it.  It said I need to preach Jesus.  The title of Monday night’s message is “A Pink Note from God” from Psalm 46.  It is a personal testimony of God presence in one of the darkest hours of my life.  It was when our house burned in 2012.

Monday night I received some of the best compliments for the same sermon that I have ever received.

The front of the card had “A Note from, the words had been marked out with a black marker, God above the black mark, and “Pink” placed with an arrow between “A Note.”

Inside the card was a bunch of Scripture verses.  I looked for a signature, finding none I tore the card into little bitty pieces.  Shoot! The whole sermon was about God being our refuge, our strength, and very present in times of trouble.

However, the damage had been done.  Whoever penned the note was vicious.  Satan and his vicious agent were trying to stop revival.  My first thought was I would like to punch Satan’s agent right in the mouth, but I figured it was a little old lady.  I am a pastor I gotta have thick skin.  Then I thought, and I felt sorry for the one that Satan used.  I think in his or her feeble mind that they were being an agent of light, not darkness.

 

Dr. Andy Westmoreland, former president of Samford University makes these suggestions for dealing with vicious people.

 

Boldly Resist:  Then answered one of the lawyers, and said unto him, Master, thus saying thou reproaches us also.  And he said, Woe unto you also, ye lawyers! for ye lade men with burdens grievous to be borne, and ye yourselves touch not the burdens with one of your fingers. Luke 11:45-46

 

Negotiate:  Agree with thine adversary quickly, whiles thou art in the way with him; lest at any time the adversary deliver thee to the judge, and the judge deliver thee to the officer, and thou be cast into prison.  Matthew 5:25

 

Turn the other cheek: But I say unto you, That ye resist not evil: but whosoever shall smite thee on thy right cheek, turn to him the other also. Matthew 5:38

 

Since I did not know the vicious person, I turned the other cheek.  It still stings a little bit!

The defamation of my so called pastor friend that I destroyed, turned on me years later.  Turned out he was vivious toward me himself.  I turned the other cheek and it stung too. 

STUMBLING THROUGH LIFE

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

What is you first reaction when you stumble?

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

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

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

FLEEING THE TEMPTER

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

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

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

 

FLEEING THE TEMPTER

 

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

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

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

Bobby E. Hopper, December 29, 1999

Visiting friends in Gulf Shores, Alabama

 

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

 

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

Miss Harvey

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And there was one Anna, a prophetess, the daughter of Phanuel, of the tribe of Aser: she was of a great age, and had lived with an husband seven years from her virginity; And she was a widow of about fourscore and four years, which departed not from the temple, but served God with fastings and prayers night and day.  And she coming in that instant gave thanks likewise unto the Lord, and spake of him to all them that looked for redemption in Jerusalem (Luke 2:36-38 KJV).

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

Heirloom Rock'n Horse

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gatlinburg sure looks nice in the fall of the year.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

 

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

Be Sure To Write It Down

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

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

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

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

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

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

            You reap what you sow.

            You cannot go swimming until you learn how to swim.

            You can do anything you put your head to do.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

            Never kiss a girl unless you are serious about her.

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

            I may not can see you, but God does.

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

            I am going to beat you till you cry.

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

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

            What is said in this house stays in this house.

            What ever you do, do your best.

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

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

            Payday comes one day.

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

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

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

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

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

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

            Go cut me a switch!

            Just wait to your daddy gets home.

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

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

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

            Read your Bible and pray.

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

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

            God will take care of us.

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

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

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

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

           

 

           

           

Mother's Day Without Mom

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Radiator and me

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  

My First Pastorate

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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