Is There Carpet in Heaven?

Several years ago, when I was working as a substitute mail carrier, I got called into the Post Master’s Office.  Through the years, I have been “called on the carpet” on many occasions for various reasons.  You might say I have plenty of “on the carpet” experience from high school, college, work, and yes, even church.

In this particular situation, I was working midnights at the cement plant burning the cement kilns.  I had worked off midnights on a Saturday morning, showered at the plant, ate breakfast at Hardees, and arrived at Montevallo Post Office early.  I thought about quitting the cement plant and working for the postal service since I was a bi-vocational pastor.  Postal work would be straight days instead of rotate shifts.

When I got to the post office, I put up the mail, pulled it down, and delivered it.  That afternoon I went home slept until time to work midnight and pulled another shift.

As we all know, there are folks that know more about your business than you do.  Well, the post office Miss Busy Body informed the Post Master that I had worked the previous Saturday without a good night’s rest and was unfit to deliver the mail.

On the carpet, the Post Master informed me that I needed a good night’s sleep before I delivered the mail.  He reiterated that the mail was a precious commodity that must be delivered with the utmost accuracy and extra care as I traveled the rural roads of Shelby County.  He notified me that if I did not correct the error of my way that he would discharge me.

When I finally got the opportunity to reply, I let the Post Master know a thing or two.  I asked him, “How much sleep did you get night last night, and what time did you get up yesterday morning?”  He responded that he had gotten up at six, went to bed at eleven, and rose this morning at six.

I told him that I had more rest than he had.  I said I went to bed at eleven in the morning, slept until nine, went to work at ten thirty, got off at six fifteen, reported to work at seven thirty, returned home around three in the afternoon, and slept until time to return to midnight shift.  I reminded him that his day was from six in the morning until eleven that night, which is seventeen hours before rest.  The Saturday I worked my time starting at nine thirty and ended at three thirty the next day which was fifteen hours.

I continued to tell him that Miss Busy Body’s son, also a rural carrier substitute, bragged to me how he did not get home until four in the morning and reported to work at seven thirty and if I was not mistaken, that’s only three and half hours.

I told him that each day that the cement plant entrusted me with two cement kilns that costs of millions of dollars, used thousands of tons of coal, produced millions of tons of cement, and I didn’t believe the mail I carried cost that much.  I told him that I understood responsibility and took many safety classes that stressed the importance of rest and work.  I worked sixteen hour shifts and many occasions at the cement plant.   I worked every other Saturday delivering the mail and worked seven consecutive days burning the kilns.  Did I say he had a sheepish look on his face?

At some point in each of our lives, people trust us.  I remember the first time dad let me drive in town.  He had an injury to his hand and he needed to go to Bessemer for a part.  We loaded into a 1958 Chevy and dad said, “You drive.”  I was scared to dead, but I knew daddy trusted me enough to drive and I was not going to let him down.

Years later, I needed someone to drive my car home from Chilton County ninety-eight miles to Gallion while I drove my old truck.  My son Aaron was thirteen.  I told him to drive the car, stay close behind me, and watch my taillights.  He had been driving enough around the Gallion community that I trusted him.  We drove slowly and safely an hour and half trip late at night and in heavy fog.

God did something amazing before the cement kilns and before mail delivery.  He in trusted me with the most important task of mankind.  He called me to share the Gospel.  It is ten simple words:  Jesus died for our sins and rose from the dead.  God is bringing the Lost to Jesus and I am part of the action.

 

But as we were allowed of God to be put in trust with the gospel, even so we speak; not as pleasing men, but God, which trieth our hearts (I Thessalonians 2:4 KJV).

 

I wonder if there is carpet in Heaven?

Whose Trophy You Got

As I parked my old, ragged GMC pickup at the Big Mo Country Club, I seemed out of place.  It was plum funny.  An old pick parked alongside of a Mercedes Benz, an Audi, and other fancy sports cars.  I felt as comfortable as a sore tail cat in a room full of rocking chairs.  My fellow golfers had new clubs, expensive bags, cute buggies, and nice carts.  They wore fancy hats, nice shoes, and leather gloves.  For me, I had some used clubs and bag donated by a former church member and some out-of-date golf shoes I bought on sale.

I knew golf protocol and the proper attire.  I did own a decent golf shirt and pair of docker slacks.  With each new arrival, the more insignificant I felt.

The only reason for my attendance at the two-man scramble at the country club was to help my brother’s church raise money for a mission project.  I am not a golfer, but I did take golf as an elective at the University of Montevallo.

I was good enough that Dr. Collins, the golf teacher, asked me to join her college team.  I was pastoring a church, working at the University carpenter shop, and taking a full set of classes.  I spent my spare time being a husband and dad.  I told Dr. Collins that I did not have time to play golf.

Dr. Collins said that I had a gift for putting and loved the way I could hit the long ball.  One day in class, she observed me as I practiced pitching the ball using the pitching wedge.  She asked, “Can you make that shot with the whole class watching?”   I told her that I thought I could.  She had the class stop for a moment and informed them that Mr. Hopper was going to demonstrate how to pitch the ball to the hole.

I took dozen balls and pitched them to the hole from a distance of about fifteen to twenty feet.  Each ball hit the flagstick and fell into the cup.  As I made each shot, Dr. Collins discussed my form and rhythm. 

In putting class, Dr. Collins asked how learned to putt.  I told her that she would not believe me. You should have seen her expression when I told her I learned at putt-putt golf.

Before the two-man scramble, I had played very little golf.  I did not have the time or the money.  Playing golf is an expensive hobby.  In reality, I had rather throw a football or shoot a basketball than chase a little white ball all over creation.

Well, that morning at Big Mo Country Club I did not know what to expect being my first Tournament.  There were dozens of men going through rituals and preliminaries of the game.

Among the players was a former co-worker from the cement plant.  Butch had to retire from the electrician crew due to a crippling injury to his wrist.  Butch was a member of my brother’s church.  He loved and played golf as often as any retiree could. 

He and I became partners in the two-man scramble, and we were paired with a couple of guys to make our team.  Butch and I kept their scores and they kept ours.

Butch and I made a good team.  He could knock the cover off that little white ball, but he struggled putting.  My strong suit was putting.  On each hole, Butch insisted that I tee-off first.  He wanted to see how good my drive was.  By rule, two-man teams could choose the best ball on each play/stroke.  If I made a good shot, Butch would take a chance; he knew if he blew the shot, we could play my ball.

In the beginning, our two teammates were winning.  Butch and I were not bad, they were better.  We had fun.  On one hole, I sliced the ball so bad that it hit a tree and bounced in behind us.  That put pressure on Butch to make a good drive.  Butch stuttered if you looked him in the eye.  On my bounce behind drive, Butch stuttered, “Give me that club before you kill somebody.”

The fifteenth hole was “dog leg” 550-yard, par five.  I had my best drive of the day.  I hit a perfect drive straight to fairway directly below the hole.  Butch stuttered, “I’m gonna hit the ball over the pine trees toward the hole.  As he hit the ball, it went high above the pines toward the hole.  It was a beauty.  It wasn’t too pretty for the other two guys.  Our two incredible shots must have frustrated them.  On this hole, one wrapped his club around a huge pine and the other threw his club in the swamp, I think to be with the ball he hit there.  I still don’t know what the pine tree did to the other player.

Our partners wasted several strokes trying to get close to my ball.  Several minutes and strokes later, we drove our carts down the trail adjacent to the fairway to locate our golf balls.  Mine was easy.  It was about 150 yards from the hole.  Our teammate’s balls were harder to find, but Butch’s was the hardest.  We thought Butch’s ball might be lost. We started looking in the rough, and finding a couple I wanted to make sure it was Butch’s ball, so I asked what the name of the ball he used was.  I found several, but none was his.  When we finally found Butch’s ball it was not in the fairway, nor the rough, but fifteen feet from the hole, just a foot off the putting green.  I putted it in.  That means that it was three strokes under par, what I think is called a “double birdie.”

When I got home, I was carrying a large trophy, which is now in my home office.  The wife and kids wanted to know whose trophy I had.  I told them that I won it.  They said, “Sure you did.  You don’t even play golf.”  I said I don’t, but I know how and that Butch and I won the tournament and a score of 72.

I did think it was ironic that we won, but we made a great pair.  Our combined skills and gifts complemented each other.

In the devotional Playing the Game in the section “Character: The Infallible Test,” the late Dr. Stephen Olford writes, “No other sport requires the level of integrity expected in the golf game.”

 

. . . if anyone competes as an athlete, he does not receive the victor's crown unless he competes according to the rules (2 Timothy 2:5 NIV). 

Do You Need to Write it Down?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Speaking of the importance of names, God keeps lists.

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

Agape

 Love comes in many forms.  There is philia which is love for one’s neighbor.  Eros is the love one has for his or her mate.  Mania is a mentally excited, excessive and persistent love. This type of love is like an obsession or craving. Storge is the love parents have for their children.  The highest love is agape, the love God has.  Agape love is the most powerful force in all of creation.  The old song says love can pick up and put you can put you down, take your world and spin it all around. There is nothing in the world stronger than love. 

It was love that kept Jesus on the cross.  It was love that raised Jesus from the grave. For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life. John 3:6(KJV)

When the Church at Corinth had disputes over different attributes, the Apostle Paul stressed love.  Paul called love the queen of graces.  The church has many attributes and talents, but love is the greatest.  Paul preached Jesus.  Jesus is God’s greatest expression of Himself to mankind.  Love is the motive for ministry.  Love never changes.

When I was a small boy, I would go to the wood yard with daddy.  I love the smell of cut pine.  There at the mill were huge saws cutting and sizing the logs.  The men were fun to watch chewing their tobacco, wiping sweat, and telling tales. 

Daddy got out of the logging business, and I did not go to the wood yard for many years.  When I did, I noticed that things had changed, but one little man did not.  Some of the old hands were fatter, gray haired, bald, and wrinkled, but the named Mr. Bob looked the same.  He wore the same hat, drove the same truck, and spit tobacco the same way.  I thought I had gone into a time warp.  The last time I saw Mr. Bob he looked the same with the exception that he drove a new pickup truck.  Mr. Bob seemed to never change, but he did.

Unending love is always the same because God never changes.  It is His nature.  Love spoke all creation into existence.  It is the expression of God’s being.  There is no love apart from God.  Love will last as long as God and that is a long, long time.  Love is forever.  And now abideth faith, hope, charity, these three; but the greatest of these is charity. I Corinthians 13:13 (KJV)

God wants us to demonstrate His love to a world that has perverted love.  This Valentine’s Day give more than a fancy card, fine chocolates, and flowers.  Share the love of God.

 

Have a Happy Valentine’s Day

 

PS:  Guys don’t forget the fancy card, fine chocolates, and flowers!

Nanafalia and Common Sense

On Tuesday mornings for several years the local radio station called me to do a live report from Bethel Baptist Association.   Moody Radio deejays John Rogers and Martin Houston (Former University of Alabama running back) 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 Bethel is 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 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 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 Famous Catfish Restaurant.

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)

Hoppers and Yankees

 In 2012, the extended Hopper family spent New Year’s Eve celebrating our Christmas.  This year it was my turn to host the extravaganza because there are five of us, we all take turns hosting Christmas. This year I decided to host it at our home in Chilton County rather than in Linden. 

There were a couple of reasons for the location change.  One is that we all have homes in the Chilton/Bibb county area even though one brother lives in Robertsdale and I in Linden.

Second, I did not know if Marengo County or the City of Linden could endure more than three Hoppers.  Third, my home/farm has enough room for frying fish, shrimp, and oysters, riding four wheelers, shooting fireworks, and parking cars.

It is hard to imagine that Mom and Dad started what has become a large extended family.  I watched in wonder as my nephew’s little boy Mason explored my backyard.  The wonder was not his exploration, but his importance.  Mason is the first male Hopper great grandchild.  He is not the first great grandchild or the first great grandchild male, but he is the first Hopper male.  As I held Mason in my arms, it was a defining moment.  The oldest male Hopper, holding the heir to the Hopper name.  A baby of the 1950’s was holding a new millennium baby.  The new replacing the old.  The thought of one who is in the final stages of his time is now holding the one who has yet to make a complete sentence.  What made the whole episode special was as I held Mason he wanted a drink of my root beer.  I gave him a sip and he confiscated my whole cup.  He teased me by giving it back only to want another sip.  As I put him down, he walked away with my root beer.

That is the way of life, new replacing the old.  With that thought, I can’t help but think of a humorous incident that happened on Tuesday before New Year Eve.

We had a rendezvous with friends from Llano, Texas at Gulf shores after Christmas.  Our rendezvous point was the Waffle House in Gulf Shores.  I don’t particularly care for the Gulf, but winter makes it nice.  It’s not too hot, the shore is deserted, and the restaurants are very available.

It is always terrific to see our friends, so we gathered at the tables beside the high bar.  For those who do not know, booths are not made for real men.  Every restaurant where we went in Gulf Shores, I requested a table.  I want to be conformable when I eat.  I usually eat at the high bar at Waffle House, but when with more than three friends, I try to eat at a table for collective talking.

While there, Waffle House began to fill with snowbirds, which are Yankees or people from “Up North.”  I do not know why, but for some reason people from “Up North” enjoy Southern hospitality, but they have never acquired any for themselves.

After enjoying a wonderful breakfast and catching up how everybody was doing and the adventures of traveling, I decided to pay the bill for breakfast.  I learned a long time ago in Union work that the meal to buy everyone is breakfast.  Dinner and supper are more expensive.

Everyone continued to share old times and drink coffee, water, or orange juice.  As I waited for the waitress, I noticed that a snowbird roosted in my sit.  Now mind you, I was not finished with my coffee.  The snowbird sat down between my son Aaron and our friend Ruby.  Mrs. Ruby, my dear friend from Llano, did not know that I had gone to pay the bill.  From the corner of her eye, she saw a glass of water sliding toward her plate.  She was startled when she turned to see a strange snowbird in my place.  To Aaron’s right, a female snowbird sat in an empty seat.  Another snowbird, with his hands on the back of the chair, stood over Aaron.  You talk about an awkward moment.  I have had some very interesting visits to the Waffle House, but his one takes the cake, or I guess you could say takes the waffle.  I am glad that Aaron is a gentle giant and has a soft spot for people “who don’t know no better” or there may have been an injured snowbird in the Waffle House.

As Aaron looked up at the snowbird, the snowbird asked if the seat was warm.  I know snowbirds come South to escape harsh winters, but taking a young man’s, and his dad’s, seat is RUDE.  Scaring an eighty-year-old woman from Llano is dim-witted.  The moral of the story is that there is always someone waiting to take your place whether you are finished or not.  If we live long enough we will see many more New Years.

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

. And he that sat upon the throne said, Behold, I make all things new (Revelation 21:5 KJV).

Since 2012 Mason has been joined by a brother Gavin, a cousin Clark, and a cousin coming in the spring named Jesse James Hopper.  Long live the Hoppers.  We do have cousins in Illinois and my brother David was born in Wisconsin.

TREES DANCING

 

The trees danced as old man winter blew his tune.

They rejoiced in the promise return of youthful summer in June.

 

The fall, like Adam and Eve, stripped them naked in the cold and rain.

But, promised to be beyond Solomon’s splendor in the spring.

 

That’s how it is with God and His care.

For the believer there is much to share.

 

When the chill and cold of trouble blow,

remember that Jesus said He must go

 

to prepare a place for believers to dwell

But, for those who reject that place is hell.

 

So we dance before a dark world so bare,

But we remember that we have “Good News” to share.

 

Just as the trees dance in the winter wind for the promise of June,

We as Christians dance for Jesus who will return soon.

 

The promise He has made is as sure as the seasons,

But he delays for many reasons.

 

Amidst the tribulation and trouble that come our way,

Remember Jesus said He would return on “That Day”.

 

Do not give up hope or refuse to believe,

just remember He’s coming when you see the leaves.

Funny Happenings in Check-out Lines

One would think with the economic recession that checkout lines would be shorter.  The other day a lady at Wal-Mart asked, “Is it always this crowded?”  I giggled and told her it was the first of the month check time.  From Arkansas, she was spending a few days at Foscue Park in Demopolis.  I told her that when people came to Demopolis, a trip to Wal-Mart was a “must” and that she should have been at the Grand Opening.  The new Super Store guaranteed more products with fewer associates to check you out.

The other night I thought I had a clear shot to a speedy exit when I noticed that the 20 items of less line had two people in it.  I rushed for some puppy chow and quickly got in line.  The first lady had one item and the young man in front of me had two.  I miscalculated again.  For some reason, the plastic cash would not calculate.   

After this, I decided to write an article about my checkout experiences that I have logged.  They have become rather humorous.  I am always excited to see what novel process I will encounter.  The other day a lady paid her bill with 63 one-dollar bills.  It was so refreshing to see someone pay with cash.  It startled the cashier to see that many dollar bills that she miscounted, counting 62.  She counted again and got 61.  The lady paying counted them and got 62.  The cashier counted again and got 62.  I laughed to myself while trapped in the aisle between the two financial whizzes in front and one lady growing very impatient behind me.  I was ready to give the lady a dollar just to get out.

It is fun to watch paper jam in the receipt printer, checks jam in the thing-a-ma-jig that processes your payment, and have the ink run out when it fails to jam the paper or the checks.

One night I got behind a customer who had one or two items remaining.  I thought it must be my lucky night.  I hurried in the line only to watch a WIC check not process.  The customer had two buggies of items and all I could see was the cashier swiping all the items again.  The cashier flicked on the dreaded blinking light and waited for someone with higher powers than her and the WIC check to clear up the chaos.  It is total exasperation when the dreaded blinking light comes on for a price check and then the haggling and bartering between the omnipotent associate and the tenacious customer begins over the price posted on the shelve and the one attached on the item.

I witnessed a cashier walk off one night.  Another time the cashier would pick up an item, examine it, swipe it, examine it again, place it in a bag, and look at her watch.  Checkout was very slow, so I started a conversation.  She told me that she got off work in ten minutes and she did not want to check out another customer.

Customers can be rude.  One time as I waited a new line opened and the cashier motioned for me to come.  I was so excited and started over when suddenly a lady, with the precision and speed of a Talladega driver, darted in front of me.  Being kind, I let her go.  She did not even say thanks.  At Food World, a young girl broke in line ahead of me.  She had some unmentionable items, so I figured she needed to go in a hurry.  Before she checked out, another dude broke in front of me.  I gave him the patented “Hopper Look” and said, “It must be Break In Front Of Bobby Day!”  The patented Hopper Look is another story.

Late one night in The Demopolis Food World, the main computer system in Birmingham shut down all the computers to update.  Talk about chaos, it was mass confusion.  Lines were three to four deep.  The poor cashiers apologized, but people who are used to having it now get very restless when they have to wait.  It is the fear of total annihilation by fire from money burning in their pockets that causes the tension.

The best checkout was up home at the Clanton Wal-Mart.  I saw my wife’s dad’s first cousin’s daughter running a checkout line.  I told her I would talk when I got ready to leave.  Upon entering the checkout, she said, “Bobby Hopper, I can’t check you out because we’re kin.”

I responded by saying, “Jackie, we ain’t kin.”

As she swiped items, I put the product separator higgy-ma-dodgie thing between my items and the other customer.

Jackie said, “Bobby Hopper, you fool, I can’t check you out.”

Jackie flipped on the dreaded blinking light.  When the omnipotent associate arrived, she wanted to know what the problem was.  You guessed it.  I was.

Jackie said, “I told this fool I couldn’t check him out cause we’re kin.”

The wise associate said it was the policy of Wal-Mart not to check out relatives.  I told her that we were not related that Jackie was my father-in-law’s second cousin.

The omnipotent associate assured me that I was.  I asked the associate, “If I was considered kin to Jackie, how in the world did Wal-Mart checkout anyone in Chilton County.  Everyone is that close?” 

The light continued to blink as the all-knowing associate checked me out.  Each time I checkout I expect something to happen.  I ask the Lord what He is trying to teach me.  The anticipation of Christmas shopping checkout is exhilarating.

Teach me good judgment and knowledge (Psalm 119:66a KJV).

Stupid Time Change

The calendar was October but the day November 9, 2016.  I was nuking a sausage burrito as the words met my eyes, “Life is ten percent of what happens to you, and ninety percent is how we respond.”

It is amazing how God puts things in the right place, at the right time, for the right situation.  That calendar has been hanging in the office workroom for six weeks and I never paid it any attention until I responded to the suggestion of my stomach that there had been a time change and, although the clock said twelve noon, my hunger remained on central daylight savings time.

Speaking of time change, I have not responded to well.  I go to bed way to early which results in me waking way too early.  My response to the changing of the time is, “Leave it one way or the other.  Stop changing my eating, working, and sleeping habits twice a year.”

When I think about responding I think of some wisdom shared with me when I first answered the call into ministry.  It happened at Shocco Springs, our Alabama Baptist Retreat Center.  It was not at a conference believe me I have attended many through the years.  It was one of my former pastors, David Meyers.

David said that he was happy to hear that I had surrendered into the ministry.  He and his wife Janice were a wonderful pastor/wife team for my home church.  David was my pastor when I first married.  In fact, it was David’s sharing with us the importance of belonging to the church in the community in which you live.  He taught us that being a Christian was one of happiness and joy.  He was a great pastor.

At Shocco, he said, “As one of your dads in ministry, I want to share one thing with you.  He said you will be pressured by the church and members of the church to respond I certain situations.  Do not let them pressure you.  Tell them that you will make it a consideration of and prayer and genuinely pray over it.  You will be amazed how many times God will work out problems for you.  Learn to wait on God.  Pastors’ biggest mistakes are trying to fix things that only God can.  We get into trouble when do not wait on God.”  I am so thankful that my pastor shared this and I have practiced for my entire ministry, lately more than ever.

David and Janice have both gone to be with the Lord.  Since it is Thanksgiving, I wanted to respond with thanks for the wisdom of those help and pray for each other as we struggle through life.

 

Wait on the Lord: be of good courage, and he shall strengthen thine heart: wait, I say, on the Lord (Psalm 27:14 KJV).

 

HAPPY THANKSGIVING

Thanks Dad

In one of my favorite pictures of my dad, he is leaning against a two by four board holding up the front porch.  Dad did not like to have his picture taken.  On this occasion, his brother was down from Illinois.  Dad had been hauling logs that day and had the smell of pine rosin and sweat mingled with the aroma of Camel cigarette smoke and grease on him.

In this picture, dad is tanned and muscled.  He was very strong from working with pulpwood and logs most of his life.  I, along with my brothers and sister, could not wait for dad to come home in the evenings.  We would spend many evenings lying on an old quit in the front yard just talking about life and looking at the heavens.

I remember that I could not wait to get old enough to go to work in the woods with him.  Back then, pulpwood was measured.  I carried a measuring stick and marked the fallen pine timber as dad cut.  He had a large, and heavy, McCulloch chainsaw.  As a ten-year-old, the chainsaw was very heavy.  It was all I could do to crank it.  When I could not, daddy would give the cord a yank and fire it up.  Ever once in a while, he let me run the chainsaw.  Most dads won’t let a ten-year-old run a chainsaw!  I had the best dad.

When hauling logs, dad allowed me guide the mule that pulled the logs back to the truck.  I was not sure I could do it, but dad said the mule knew what to do once I hooked the tongs to the log.  It was fascinating that the mule could find his way back to the truck.  I would jump on the log and balance myself as the log rolled, twisted, and turned going up and down the hills and hollers back to the truck.  It was even more fun to watch the side loading arms of the log truck throw the logs on the truck.  I don’t think momma would have let me go with daddy if she had known how dangerous it was.

I remember helping dad fall a giant oak.  He bated the tree and I helped to push.  Suddenly as the giant tree started to fall, a gush of wind caught the oak and pushed it back toward us.  Daddy yelled, “Run son!”

As a boy, I wanted to spend as much time with dad as I could.  Dad was what folks back home call a “jackleg mechanic.”  When you are poor and have nothing but junk, you spend a lot of time repairing.  Most of my time was spent under the hood or underneath cars, tractors, and trucks.  This is something I enjoy doing today.  It is therapeutic and nostalgic.

For some reason, dad went most places by himself.  On particular day, he was going to Montevallo to pick up his check.  Momma asked if I wanted to go.  I think she wanted me to spy on dad and see what he was doing.  I knew I had to keep my lips sealed if there was to be another expedition with dad.  I was so excited and could not wait to ride in our log truck with him.

As I went out the door, I closed the door on my fingers.  Doing the natural thing, I pulled them from the closed door, leaving one of my fingernails in the door.  Blood was flying and the finger was throbbing.  I was not going to miss an opportunity to spend time with dad.  I dare not cried.  He would have made me stay home.  I remember sitting alone for what seemed an eternity with my finger throbbing with the beating of my heart.  Dad wanted me to be tough.

Momma taught me how to drive, but daddy let me drive.  Dad went from logging to working in a rock plant.  Our family car became his work vehicle.  As usual, it needed repair another rear axle.  As we started to Bessemer to find a replacement, dad said, “You drive.”  I was twelve. 

On a long hill near Montevallo, I remember being scared to death as we descended.  I looked at dad and he seemed to have confidence in me.  That was until I kept riding too close to the outside of the highway.  Dad told me that there was more room to the inside and stop driving like momma. He said that we would have to have new tires and the front end realigned if I kept running off the road.  Driving in Bessemer was scary and exciting.  I had the time of my life, me driving my daddy.

In her book, Catching Fireflies, Patsy Clairmont says that she read somewhere that we get our role models from our same-sex parent and our sense of safety and security from our opposite same-sex parent.  I don’t know about all that, but I do know that I am glad I had a daddy that loved me and taught me much about life.  I know there are thousands of children that do not have a dad in their lives.  Society is paying a tremendous price for this.  This creates a negative view of God as our Father.  Those that have a nurturing and tender interaction with their dad helps in bonding with our heavenly Father.  Clairmont says that Deuteronomy 32:4, 9-10 gives us a glimpse God’s father-heart.

 

He is the Rock, his work is perfect: for all his ways are judgment: a God of truth and without iniquity, just and right is he.

For the Lord's portion is his people; Jacob is the lot of his inheritance. He found him in a desert land, and in the waste howling wilderness; he led him about, he instructed him, he kept him as the apple of his eye.

 

November is the time for Veteran’s Day and Thanksgiving.  Thanks dad!

Trick or Treat

Fall is here, leaves are turning, the air is changing, and the harvest continues.  Most people think of Halloween when they think of October.  I had a baby brother born the day before Halloween.

I remember staying with my aunt.  Mamma was in the hospital, and I had specific orders from her.  I was in the second grade, and I had been elected harvest king by the second grade.  Mamma told me to be sure to take my little suit to have the king and queen pictures taken.

I convinced my aunt, you know how second graders are, that it was not the day to have my picture taken.  Mamma sacrificed to buy the outfit.  I remember it hanging under the plastic by the door as I went to catch the school bus.  I knew I messed up the minute I got on the bus and saw a fifth grader with his suit hanging in the bus. 

Mamma was upset and I look like a little pauper in a shirt and blue jeans standing by my queen.  I sure was glad to see my little brother.  Mamma was so proud of him and did not spend too much time reminding how upset she was with me.  It did not help when I did not tell her about the pictures the school had for sale of the pauper and queen.

Mamma enjoyed Halloween.  We did not dress in typical costumes.  We dressed win old clothes and went serenading.  One year Mamma dressed up like an old man.  She wore false teeth from age thirty to her death.  Mamma was a tomboy growing up so she could act like a man with a very deep voice.  I drove her from house to house and when we got to her mother’s house, grandmoe ran her away with a double-barreled shotgun.  Grandmoe thought she was a cousin who was a drunk.  We had so much fun.

The fondest memory is of Mrs. Blonnie Crumpton.  We went to her house, and she had never had anyone trick or treat her.  We looked like a bunch hoodlums or rift raft.  Mrs. Blonnie was the second oldest member of my home church.  Her dad fought in the Civil War.  She cooked on an old wood stove. 

When momma explained the meaning trick or treat, Mrs. Blonnie said, “Come in children.”  She treated us to baked sweet potatoes.  They were in the warmer of that old wood stove.  They were not chocolate or caramel, but they were good.  Every time we bake them, I think of that great saint of God who my preacher explained as one of the greatest prayer warriors he knew. 

Today when most people think of Halloween, it is evil.  Evil things happen, but God’s people can do good things just as Mrs. Blonnie did.  Paul admonishes the Romans, “Be not overcome of evil, but overcome evil with good.” (12:21 ASV)  

Pastor's Appreciation Month

God calls men into the pastorate to build people.  Unfortunately, many pastors are guilty of using people and the platform God gives them for self-promotion and self-ministry.  God divinely assigns people to His pastors to whom the pastors are spiritually responsible before God.  The wise pastor is a good steward edifying believers entrusted to him.  He cares for them as a “shepherd” cares for his sheep.

The same is true for the church.  Churches are sometimes guilty of not caring for God’s man.  The Holy Spirit sends a man into ministry.  The church recognizes this and releases him to do the work God calls him to perform in the framework of the Lord’s local church.  The pastor does more than work a couple of hours a week.  When people ask me how they can get a job where they work only two, maybe three, hours a week, I say, “Get right with God and you can.”

The pastor’s job is not simply to preach, to administer the ordinances, perform funerals and weddings, or simply lead the staff and administer the affairs of the church.  It is the pastor’s solemn and signal duty to care for his people, to “shepherd the church of God which He purchased with His own blood.”

Part of Pastor’s Appreciation is furnishing the pastor with generous resources to shepherd.  There are those who have the philosophy, “Lord you keep the preacher humble, and we will keep him poor.”

I had affiliation with a church that was guilty of holding back on a visiting preacher.  The church announced that a pastor would be coming to do a week of revival.  The host church’s pastor and members of budget and finance committee agreed to pay a certain amount for each service and to take a love offering for the visiting pastor.

The revival came.  It was a wonderful revival and the love offering was very generous demonstrating true revival.  The member of the budget and finance who wrote the checks informed the pastor that the visiting pastor did not get the love offering.  When asked why, the member said that budget and finance chairperson told her not to do so.

The host pastor investigated.  The chairperson told the pastor that the love offering was more than the visiting pastor deserved.  The pastor reminded the chairperson that the church voted to designate the love offering to the visiting pastor and that that was where it was going.  The chairperson refused until the pastor explained the legality of the situation.   The pastor said one call to the State Board of Missions, the IRS, or to the legal counsel of Samford law school could make the chairperson rethink the situation.

The chairperson asked if the visiting pastor had a church and if that church paid him while in revival.  The pastor said yes to both questions but reminded the chairperson that was immaterial.  The pastor told the chairperson that the amount of the love offering was irrelevant.  The pastor said that there was a man in the congregation known to place a $1,000 check in the love offering designated to the visiting preacher.  If the love offering was $1.00 or $10,000, it was going to the visiting preacher.

Had the visiting preacher been aware of the conversation of the pastor and the chairperson, he would have refused it.  Knowing the visiting preacher as I do, he would have authorized the check and gave it back to the church.  The visiting preacher would have said, “Here you need it more than I do.”  I know this because the visiting preacher had a pastor friend who did just that.

Most pastors trust that the church will do the “right thing” in the matter of compensation.  Many pastors live frugal lives to afford some of the good things of life.  Some churches act as though the pastor is to be a “hireling” of the church.  A God-called pastor does not work for the church.  He has a higher calling.

But he that is an hireling, and not the shepherd, whose own the sheep are not, seeth the wolf coming, and leaveth the sheep, and fleeth: and the wolf catcheth them, and scattereth the sheep.  The hireling fleeth, because he is an hireling, and careth not for the sheep (John 10:12-13).

Be generous to those called to shepherd you.

Jesus Is Coming Soon

My friend, and friend to Bethel Baptist churches, said something at the 125^th Anniversary of Catherine Baptist Church that reminded me of something funny that happened when I pastored in Clanton.

Shannon reminded us that church is a place of worship and praise, not a place of mumbling and murmuring, and messes.  He mentioned particularly people complaining about the church is too hot or cold, the sermon too long or too short, and a whole list of other complaints.

Having an attention deficit problem, I immediately thought about a college football game the other day where the temperature on the field was 130 degrees.  There were roughly one hundred thousand in attendance.  Packed like sardines in the sun, they were screaming their lungs out for their team.  Many of them would not do that in church.

At the church I pastored in Clanton, every Sunday I had those that complained the church was too cold and members would place songbooks over the air-conditioner regulators.  Across the church, others complained that it was too hot.  Now if you know me very well, you know that I am game for most anything.

One beautiful Sunday morning I asked all those that were cold to stand.  When they did, I asked those that were hot to stand.  They did.  I asked both groups to look at one another and said, “Trade places.”  The complaints ended.

My dear departed friend, Rabbit, real name S.O. Easterling had a similar situation at a sister church.  Rabbit, a senior adult, was a newborn believer still learning about church folks.  Rabbit was in charge of church maintenance.  He was having the hardest time with the auditorium thermostats.  Little old ladies, too cold, and deacons too hot, and others of both hot and cold feelings, kept adjusting them.

Rabbit bought thermostat covers that locked, but members would use pocketknives, hair pens, and other objects to adjust them.

Rabbit did something diabolical.  He unhooked the auditorium thermostats, but left them on the wall, and placed two new thermostats in closet walls behind the auditorium and beside the choir loft.

Rabbit said that the complaints ceased.  Everyone set the thermostats where they wanted, not knowing they controlled nothing.  It is kinda like most folks who think that they are in control.

Diablo, that is Satan is having a heyday as of late.  He knows his days are numbered and he is using every means available to place fear into the hearts of man through deception.

May I remind us that the Devil is the prince of the air?  The reason evil abounds is that many are deceived.  Deceive means to make one believe something that is not true.

Lately, I think of an old song that reminds me that one day Jesus will return, and we need to awake as the Church.  The old Deceiver cannot fool true believers 

For there shall arise false Christs, and false prophets, and shall shew great signs and wonders; insomuch that, if it were possible, they shall deceive the very elect (Matthew 24:24 KJV).

 

For many deceivers are entered into the world, who confess not that Jesus Christ is come in the flesh. This is a deceiver and an antichrist (II John 1:7 KJV).

 

And the great dragon was cast out, that old serpent, called the Devil, and Satan, which deceiveth the whole world: he was cast out into the earth, and his angels were cast out with him (Revelation 12:9 KJV)

 

Until Jesus returns, share the Good News of Jesus, Truth in the flesh.  Attend church to worship and praise God.

 

Hypocrites

One Sunday night I was making a church visit when I noticed a small pickup on the side of the road.  It had a camper and a handicap tag.  Our first thought was someone with a disability could be in serious trouble.

Daddy taught me to look out for people with special needs.  If my brothers and I wanted to get in big trouble, all we had to do was make fun or laugh at someone with disabilities.  He taught us to help those who could not help themselves.  He made sure we gave respect to everyone.

I slowed down, looked into the pickup, but saw no one.  We thought about the possibility of the driver struggling up the highway.  A short distance from the pickup we spotted a couple picking up aluminum cans.  At first, we thought one of them was walking with a cane, but we realized that it was a mechanical grip used to pick up cans.

What made the whole thing ironic was would this same couple park in the handicap parking of a business because they could not walk but were about a half mile from their truck walking and picking up cans out on the highway.

I racialized that people do what they want to do.  We make all kinds of excuses for not doing things for the Lord.  I would guess if I had asked this couple to attend worship with me, the church I was going was about two miles from the truck, they would have said they were not able.  The church that we were going has handicap parking at the front door.

So many times, people would rather make excuses about their predicaments and live off the discards of the world.  Some use the excuse that the church is full of hypocrites.  Someone using a handicap parking space without being handicapped is being a hypocrite. It makes me angry to see that, but it does not keep them from shopping in that store, eating at a restaurant, or attending a game. There are hypocrites in all areas of life, but that does not keep us from living.  Why should it keep us from church?

This couple would have benefited more from attending worship than from the few pennies earned from the aluminum cans.  The greatest impairment and disability is life without Jesus.

  Now Peter and John were going up into the temple at the hour of prayer, being the ninth hour.  And a certain man that was lame from his mother's womb was carried, whom they laid daily at the door of the temple which is called Beautiful, to ask alms of them that entered into the temple;  who seeing Peter and John about to go into the temple, asked to receive an alms.  And Peter, fastening his eyes upon him, with John, said, Look on us.  And he gave heed unto them, expecting to receive something from them.  But Peter said, Silver and gold have I none; but what I have, that give I thee. In the name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth, walk.  And he took him by the right hand, and raised him up: and immediately his feet and his ankle-bones received strength.  And leaping up, he stood, and began to walk; and he entered with them into the temple, walking, and leaping, and praising God.  And all the people saw him walking and praising God: (Acts 3:1-9 ASV) 

Oh, by the way, when I got to the church there was a precious couple that always greets me.  I hugged the husband’s neck, reached into the wheelchair, and got my hugs from his wife.  God is so faithful to bless our faithfulness. 

Too Simple to Work

Has anyone ever asked you to do something, and you thought, “that’s too simple and it will not work.”  While reading my devotion I came across the word “exponentially.”  What was odd, I heard “growing exponential” in a sermon the day before.  Sometimes when I do not know what a word means, I generally see how it is used in the sentence.  This time, since it crossed my path twice, I looked it up.  The definition did not help so I looked to see a commonsense use of “exponentially.”

What I found was an old math equation using a penny.  It goes like this:  Would you work for a day for a penny if I doubled it every day for 30 days?  Most people say no.  In fact, I asked Pam, my secretary and she said no.  I would!

If I work for a penny a day, $0.01, and double it each day on the thirtieth day, I would be paid $10,737,418.24 for that day.  Did I ever tell you that algebra was the easiest subject I ever took?  This exponential function can be represented by the equation: f(x) = 0.01(2^x) where x = the day number. If you plug in 30 for x, you get f(x) = 0.01×2³⁰ = 10,737,418.24.  The problem, no pun intended, is the simplicity of a penny a day.

Take my friend Keilan.  After winter shut down at the cement plant, Keilan and I were in the process of starting up the cement kilns.  The coal hoppers had a slide at the bottom above the coal mills.  Normally it took someone hammering the slide out of the hopper.  It was hard to open when the hoppers were empty and very difficult when tons of coal was on top of the slide.  Knowing how problematical it was, I had greased the slide before pushing it in place when the hopper emptied for shutdown.  The shift supervisor instructed Keilan to make sure the slide was out while the tanks were empty.

Keilan could not find a sledgehammer.  Usually, they were everywhere.  I inquired why he needed a sledgehammer.  Keilan could be easily frustrated; worried coal would be put into the hoppers before he could get the slide out.  He had a few special words for me and again asked if I knew where there was a sledgehammer.  I asked him if he had tried to pull the slide out of the hopper.  I got a few choice words explaining that it was impossible to do that.

Keilan did not know was while he was in search of the hiding sledgehammers I went to see if I could pull out the slide knowing I had greased it while the hopper was empty.  It pulled right out.  I pushed it back in for a little fun with Keilan.

The bamboozled Keilan returned with no sledgehammer.  I asked again if he had tried to pull out the slide.  After a few more inapt words from him and some persuading words from me, Keilan consented to try to pull the slide. 

If I had not caught him, he yanked the slide with the fury of an agitated Hercules; he would have gone over a safety rail and fallen twenty feet onto concrete.  It was funny and Keilan and the slide, which weighed about seventy-five lbs., were heavy.  I think Keilan would have tried to kill me, but he was too indebted since I caught him.  Again, the solution was too simple.

On another occasion, my friend Bailey, a carpenter at the University of Montevallo, had spent several days and several dollars taking his infant daughter Ashleigh to the pediatrician to cure oral thrush, a yeast infection in the mouth caused by an overgrowth of fungus.  I worked four years with Bailey.  A co-worker and I said the old timers called it “thrash” and that he should take Ashleigh to a “thrash doctor.”  That’s where I took my children.  My Grandmoe Chapman was a thrash doctor.

Bailey was a college graduate and was reluctant to believe what he termed voodoo and old wives' tales.  Ashleigh grew worse, Bailey spent more money, and we encouraged him to use a thrash doctor.

One day an officer from the University police department visited the carpenter shop for a cup of coffee.  The morning conversation was the status of Ashleigh’s mouth and Bailey’s checking account.  Hearing our advice to see the thrash doctor, which do not charge for services rendered, Officer Satterwhite advised Bailey to take her to the thrash doctor.  Not believing my co-worker and me, Bailey took Ashleigh to Officer Satterwhite’s mother, a thrash doctor.  One trip healed Ashleigh.  The solution was too simple.

So Naaman came with his horses and with his chariot, and stood at the door of the house of Elisha.  And Elisha sent a messenger unto him, saying, Go and wash in Jordan seven times, and thy flesh shall come again to thee, and thou shalt be clean.  But Naaman was wroth, and went away, and said, Behold, I thought, He will surely come out to me, and stand, and call on the name of the Lord his God, and strike his hand over the place, and recover the leper.  Are not Abana and Pharpar, rivers of Damascus, better than all the waters of Israel? May I not wash in them, and be clean? So he turned and went away in a rage.  And his servants came near, and spake unto him, and said, My father, if the prophet had bid thee do some great thing, wouldest thou not have done it? How much rather then, when he saith to thee, Wash, and be clean?  Then went he down, and dipped himself seven times in Jordan, according to the saying of the man of God: and his flesh came again like unto the flesh of a little child, and he was clean (II Kings 5:9-14 KJV).