Welcome To Earth Jack Barrett Hopper

God handed Jack Barrett Hopper to us on July 19, 2023 at 6:06 PM weighing in at 6 lbs. 12 oz and 19 inches long.  God left him Texas.  He was two weeks and four days old before I heard the good news. My brother told me.  He was gracious enough to send me a picture that my sister-in-law received through Facebook.  I don’t do Facebook.  Jack is my grandson and no one told me about the future Hopper boy.

What my son did not know was that God revealed to me through the Holy Spirit that Jack arrived on earth and that all was well.  Jack was an answer to my prayer that my son and his wife have a baby, especially a boy where the Hopper name would continue through yours truly.

I know that was a selfish prayer, but I felt as though the Lord was going to give me a Hopper grandson even though I may see him by picture or video.  I had faith but there had been some doubts for several years.  My younger brothers have Hopper grandsons.  I am a happy “Poppy” to a fifteen- year-old grandson, JonGrady, which belongs to my daughter.  He, ironically, is a Chapman, which was my mama’s maiden name.  My son-in-law had two sons from a precious marriage giving me three grandsons and I have two grandsons through my marriage to Lisa.  I am proud of my six grandsons and two granddaughters.  Jack Barrett will continue the Hopper name.

Jack Barrett’s dad and I have a broken relationship.  I have tried to mend it, something that only God can do, because I am a pastor and he is a Christian and we should do all we can to reconcile.  I pray, as my son become a dad, he will learn each day how much a dad loves his children, especially a son.  I know that when I had my first-born, a son, I learned to love dad even more.  Suddenly my hardheaded dad was intelligent.  The older I got; the smarter dad became.  My eldest is forty-six and I continue to learn how much daddy loved me and how God, my heavenly Father loves me because of my sons and daughter,. 

I love Jack Barrett’s dad and remember how as a little boy he would lay his head on my heart and listen to it beat.  I wish he could hear how much it hurts because the love we had for so many years lies buried deep in pride, falsehoods, and resentment.  Learning “through the grapevine” about my grandson’s birth hurt so badly that I was overwhelmed.  One more time in life’s journey that my heart felt ripped out, stomped, and tossed into hell.  All I knew to do was to take my old GMC pickup for a drive.  It was and continues to be a place of peace and meditation.

The old truck was the cradle that rocked Jack Barrett’s dad to sleep.  His dad was three years old before he slept all night.  I would come home from working midnights and his mom would say take him out of the house where I can get some sleep.  I would ride with him in the old GMC that we named “Gimmy” for hundreds of miles through the years.  He loved that old truck and helped me restore it before moving to Texas.  He hurt my heart when he sent me his set of keys from Gimmy that he had from a teenager to Alabama by his brother-in-law.  My heart died a little more.  At my passing, Gimmy will be Aaron’s.

With a heavy hurting heart, I took Jack Barrett’s dad on an imaginary ride.  I rode to the Union Springs cemetery to visit my mom and dad’s grave and do some ruminating.  I remembered how proud dad was when my eldest son was born was.  I never forget the way he caressed that first Hopper grandson.  Dad died before Jack Barrett’s dad was born, but he was as much like dad as he could be.  I nicknamed him “Little M” in honor of dad, JM.

I stood beside Grandpa and grandmoe Chapman graves and remembered my relationship with them. 

Then I rode to Shelby Memorial Garden to visit my in-laws’ graves.  Jack’s Barrett’s dad was the first grandson for the Moxley’s.  I remember Mr. Moxley holding that first-born grandson.  My heart was exploding with hurt thinking of dad and Mr. Moxley held their firstborn.  I remembered holding JonGrady and Max my grandson through Lisa.  I pined.  Would I ever get to hold infant Jack Barrett? 

I left there and rode down to the Tabernacle Methodist Church where Grandpa and Grannie Hopper graves are.  I never knew Grandpa Hopper.  He committed suicide when dad was eleven years old.  Then I walked over to Great-grandpa and great-grandma Hopper graves.  Jack Barrett was on my mine.   I do not know or understand what God’s plan is, but I know God is in control and things will be better.

From the time of my son’s birth, I prepared him as best I could to be a loving dad, a Christian husband, and dedicated employee.  People through the years folks tell me what a mature, generous, and polite man he is.  He is a gentle giant.  People commented that he was too young to have the wisdom he demonstrated.  He is a hard-working young man.  One of the heartaches I have is our broken relationship.  Best I can tell is that he thinks I lied to him about the trouble and divorce from his mom.  He said my story does not add up.  I reminded him that things are not as they seem and do not believe everything you hear and half of what you see.  I told him the truth, but most people do not want to know the truth.  It is not “juicy” enough.  He claimed I changed my story each time I told it.  I said each time I told it I was more specific.  I told him a lie is the same each time because you rehearse it.  He said I would tell the truth on my deathbed.  I go on record, Aaron, I told you the truth. I will not but if we discussed it again, I would be more descriptive and detailed than last time.  It happened, it is past, I cannot change the truth.  I live the fiasco daily wondering way.

Even if there is reconciliation, my relationship with Jack Barrett and his future siblings will be long distance, a Texas to Alabama vastness physically.  If no reconciliation, it will be an aloofness spiritually and a detachment mentally.  Like I told Aaron in a poem, he is always close to me.  He is in my heart.  Jack Barrett, “Listen to your dad’s heart.  It will be special to him during times of separation and disagreement.”

Welcome to earth Jack Barrett Hopper.  God has a great journey for you.

For I know the thoughts that I think toward you, saith the Lord, thoughts of peace, and not of evil, to give you an expected end.  Then shall ye call upon me, and ye shall go and pray unto me, and I will hearken unto you.  And ye shall seek me, and find me, when ye shall search for me with all your heart.  Jeremiah 29:11-13

 

Say, Uncle

I love dark nights when you can see billions of stars.  Things look different at night.  Ordinary objects take life and your imagination begins to run while.  I remember jogging one night on an old dirt road near my home.  It was beautiful until I felt the presence of something behind me.  All of a sudden, I began to imagine this hideous green demon with one red eye breathing down my neck.  Thinking about him floating behind me, I picked up my pace a step or two and thought about what my daddy told me one time about darkness in a graveyard.  He said, “Don’t be afraid of the dark.  Ain’t nuthin’gonna hurt you.  People there are dead.”

Well, those were reassuring words when there ain’t no haints around, but the goose bumps popping out on my arms, the rising hair on my neck, and the knocking of my knees were not too optimistic about my daddy’s words.

Granny Hopper said the best thing to do when haints, goblins, and the devils imps are around is shew them away in the name of Jesus.  I was more optimistic about Granny Hopper’s words than dad’s words.  So, that is what I did.  I said, “In the name of Jesus I command you to leave demon.”  I must say jogging does get your heart rate up, especially if you jog with a haint.  Praying for the Lord to help is comforting.

Growing up in rural Chilton County I heard plenty of stories about strange things that happen in the night.  One strange thing is lights that appear and move through the sky.  Where I grew up there were such occurrences until people earned enough money and went modern with security lights. 

My Grandpaw Chapman saw these mysterious lights in the western horizon of his farm.  After several events he finally decided to investigate, which was a feat in itself seeing as Grandpaw was a tad skittish. He followed the light down into the words to the north of his property where the light descended down a tree and into the ground.  The next morning he returned to the tree and dug up some metal, which he thought to be copper.  The light never returned.

My cousin Floyd had one of these lights wake him.  He said he thought it was someone with a flashlight.  He said it hovered over him for a while.  Floyd had goose bumps, rising hair and knocking knees.  He went from sleeping to running. 

I never saw these lights, but I did see some in Oklahoma.  The Chilton Baptist Builders were working in Baxter Springs, Kansas.  Some of the folks wanted to know if we wanted to see the lights that were just over the state line and since the T.V. program That’s Incredible had been there a few weeks prior to our coming.  It is one of those unexplainable phenomenons with lights bouncing in the sky.

I must say the light reacted much like the ones I heard about in Alabama.  That night the light jumped into the road and headed toward us.  Kansas folks said the light would react with all sorts of oddities.  Some there said the light got into their car.  Others said it would come toward them disappear and reappear.  I guess the light was scared of Alabama folks because it never got real close but I did see it and kept some newspaper articles about it as souvenirs from the trip.

I have never seen any unexplainable spooks at night other than those lights, but my Uncle Ellis did.  One afternoon while returning home from school, he saw a haint.  Uncle Ellis was not quite right.  Not being quite right must be a Hopper trait.  No one has ever been able to explain what was wrong with him other than his mind never developed mentally.  He was a giant, a six feet, four inches, two hundred fifty pounds of kid.  He loved to play his Roy Rogers guitar and he loved my mom and me.  I was a baby. 

Momma had to get Ellis off dad one time when Uncle Ellis thought dad was hurting mom.  Mom and dad would be very physical during playful spats.  Dad said Uncle Ellis had unbelievable strength.  Uncle Ellis died young, before my first birthday.

Once Ellis was told to stay in a truck why highway patrol officers questioned my Uncle James and my daddy.  Uncle James, who worked at a service station, sold the headlights of the truck to a man that had blown both of his.  As Uncle James and dad explained why they were driving at dusk without lights, another officer went to the passenger side of the truck and told Uncle Ellis to get out.  This officer was a rookie in training.

Having satisfied the senior officer’s interrogation, the senior asked the location of his partner.  Uncle Ellis was still sitting in the truck as told.  Dad asked, “Ellis where is the highway patrolman?”

Uncle Ellis replied, “He’s there in tha detch.”

Down in the ditch was the officer out cold.  When they asked Ellis what happened, he said the officer stuck a pistol in his face and shined a flashlight in his face while telling him to get out of the pickup.  I can see Barney Fife telling a professional wrestler to get out.  Ellis said he did not say anything to the patrol officer and the officer told him to get out again.  After a third time, the officer threatened Ellis.  When threatened, Ellis responded the only way he knew.  He told Uncle James, dad, and the senior officer that he took the flashlight from the officer, knocked officer in the head, and threw him in the ditch. 

Ellis did exactly as told by his older brothers.  He stayed in the pickup.  They all laughed and the senior officer reprimanded the rookie.  Uncle James, Uncle Ellis, and dad finally made it home before it was too dark.

Some time before the flashlight incident it seems that Uncle Ellis and Uncle Clifton, who was younger, were walking home from school after the bus dropped them off on a dirt road.  My great-uncle Kelly decided to scare his two nephews.  His scheme was to hide in the ditch and scare them as the autumn sun was setting and shadows were growing long, the time we call the twilight zone.  It was ideal for haints.  To make the ghost more realistic, Uncle Kelly had a sheet over him.

As my two uncles walked by him, great-uncle Kelly jumped from the ditch and yelled Booooo!  Uncle Clifton lit out like a “scalded dawg.”  Daddy said they measured Uncle Clifton’s footprints and they were unbelievably far apart. 

All out of breath, Uncle Clifton told the family that a haint had Ellis.  Everyone snickered knowing that it was Kelly in a sheet.  Uncle Clifton was terrified as any little boy would be.  Several family members sitting on the front porch consented to see if the haint got Ellis.

As they got about half way there, they spotted Ellis.  He was walking at a normal pace enjoying the fall colors and the growing darkness as trees blocked the setting sun.  Uncle Ellis was in his own little world.

  They asked Ellis about the haint.  Ellis said the haint was in the ditch.  They asked what happened.  Ellis said, “Hummm, I pick’d up er rok and hit tha haint in tha head.”

“Where’s the haint,” they asked. 

Ellis said, “Up thar en tha detch.” When the family arrived to the haunted ditch, they found Kelly, the Out Cold Ghost.  Great-uncle Kelly learned that Uncle Ellis wasn’t afraid of haints just like the rookie patrol officer found out Uncle Ellis was not scared of flashlights and pistols.

“And when the disciples saw him walking on the sea, they were troubled, saying, It is a spirit; and they cried out for fear.  But straightway Jesus spake unto them, saying, Be of good cheer; it is I; be not afraid.” (Matthew 14:26-27 KJV)

Reflections

 

Back in June 2011 I had prayer that morning for the retirees of Linden City Schools.  They told me to adlib for the “Reflections” part I had on the program.  That was easy, since most of the stuff I did, as Director of Missions seems to be adlib.  I was supposed to be on vacation, but WMVB (Moody Radio) needed my voice, Pam, BBA secretary, needed an article, and the school needed my prayer.  I guess the school realized I needed to practice my public prayers, Pam needed to fill space on the back of The Alabama Baptist, and John Rogers of Moody Radio needed me to fill a time slot with information from Bethel Baptist Association.  That being said, my vacation plans are flexible, so I adlibbed, and changed plans for a few hours. 

Something caught my attention at the retirement celebration.  One teacher served 39 years.  That is significant.  She began teaching a year after I graduated.  Can you believe that fifty-two years ago I graduated Jemison High School?  It has gone so fast.

I remember at our fifteenth-year reunion that our biology teacher was celebrating her thirtieth reunion year.  We kidded her about being old when she taught and how did she feel about going to her reunion of THIRTY years.

I think some of my classmates may have matured a tad bit more that they would like to admit.  I know that Miss Clairol is a personal friend of most of the girls, oh, I’m sorry, I mean senior adult women, in my senior class, and Father Time has caught most of us guys who have developed the dreaded furniture disease.  That is our chest has dropped into our drawers.

Most of our reunions have been on a riverboat ride departing from Montgomery.  The ride is forty-five minutes down river and forty-five minutes to return.  It begins at twilight and concludes as night settles over town.  The nighttime skyline of Montgomery is mesmerizing.  The lights are absolutely breathtaking.  I love the nighttime, especially in the winter when it is drizzling rain.  It is a time of reflection for me.

Unconsciously, I think it has something to do with my arrival to earth.  No, I’m not an extraterrestrial being even thought I may appear to be one.  I was born at night during a freezing rain.  I know that I cried that night because it was so beautiful.  I think that’s way I cried.

Another thing is that I dated many nights underneath beautiful star filled skies.  I got my first kiss at night on a front porch.  I worked more night shifts than day shifts at the cement plant.  I work better at night than in the daytime.  If fact I worked into the night trying to finish this article for Pam.

Unfortunately, most people associate night with the negative or the bad.  Some folks have trouble seeing at night. Driving at night is a big thing among senior adults.  I remember overhearing one of our senior adult ladies at our Senior Adult Revival asking if a certain eligible senior adult man had his driving license and if he could drive at night.

Evil people work their evilness behind the cloak of darkness.  Thieves do their thieving at night.  Good, that is light, is often contrasted with Bad, which is darkness.  Satan is the prince of darkness.  That is the way life is, someone or somebody can ruin a good night.

Take old Judas for instance.  Jesus and the gang were having a swell nighttime party and Judas had to do his dastardly deed and betray Jesus.  The fourth gospel, The Apostle John, uses light and darkness figuratively.  John says that when Judas left the upper room “it was night.”  C. Welton Gaddy in his book Geography of the Soul says, “That is not merely an observation about the time of day; it was a comment on the condition of Judas’ soul.”

He (Judas) then having received the sop went immediately out: and it was night (John 13:30 KJV).

The disciples knew their potential for betrayal because the Last Supper was a time of refection.

Ringing bells, Clanging tracks, Bumping cars

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Parable of the Wayside

 As I traveled to Gadsden to Suzy Trader’s dad’s funeral. Suzy is the wife of Dr. Steve Trader, our Alabama Baptist Children’s Home and Family Ministries counselor.  Along the way, I noticed things on the side of the road.  It is amazing what is on the side of the road.  With each mile, I thought of something funny that The First Lady of FBC Demopolis, Ashleigh Williams, told me the other day.

Ashleigh posed the question, “Why is their always only one tennis shoe on the side of the road?  Shoes come by the pair.”  I took a moment to reflect since that was one of those UMPH moments.

Ashleigh gave me a profound question to ponder, especially when I began to pay attention to the things on the side of Interstate 20/59 on the way to Gadsden.  It was obvious that those who did not do a very good job of securing their cargo placed some things there.  These include the aluminum ladder, the air-conditioner insulated duct, the ice chest lid, the Styrofoam cooler, the weed eater, a bag of clothes, the love seat, and the book shelve.  Among these were the rubber straps with one hook missing, the half of the nylon strap, the frayed rope, and the bright yellow bungee.

It makes you wonder sometimes if people toss things on purpose.  There is the Auburn baseball cap, the Alabama T-shirt, the BF Goodrich tire, the broken bud lite beer bottle, the empty Marlboro light cigarette package, the plastic six-pack strap, the plastic safety hat, the pair of sunglasses, and the empty Pepsi 12-ounce aluminum can.

I giggle when I see the one sock, the one boot, and the one glove.  I think about the poor soul that arrived at his destination to find he had one sock, one boot, no T-shirt, one glove, and no hardhat.  Frustrated, he reaches for his bag of clothes to retrieve his dirty work clothes and there is no bag.  He takes a moment to settle his nerves and finds no Styrofoam cooler to retrieve a Pepsi.  There is no cooler, no six-pack of Pepsi.  He looks into his beer ice chest and finds it overturned; no bottles of Bud Light hidden under the ice.  He wonders how did they fall off his pickup. Reaching for a Marlboro light, our poor traveler has no nicotine fix.

Knowing he cannot work; our half-dressed worker gets in his pickup and heads to the nearest Walmart.  As his luck is horrible, he gets a flat tire.  He pulls to the wayside. He jacks his pickup up and finds that he has lost his spare BF Goodrich tire.

He abandons his pickup and begins his journey on foot wearing one boot, one tennis shoe, shirtless, and no cap.  He thinks I should have worn shirt and shoes while driving.  Now his only companions on the Interstate are the dead armadillos, possums, cats, dogs, and deer that are being devoured by buzzards and crows.  He thinks it odd, but he notices a possum and three crows dining together on a squished possum.  He realizes that vehicles on the Interstate are passing very fast.

Each time he sticks out his thumb to hitchhike, follow travelers pass by switching lanes as they near him thinking him to be a decrepit drug addict making a living picking up aluminum cans and going through things on the wayside.

It is obvious that I had too much time to think on my drive to Gadsden, but I did think about Jesus’ parable to the disciples about seeds falling on the wayside.

 

And when he sowed, some seeds fell by the way side, and the fowls came and devoured them up (Matthew 13:4 KJV).

 

When any one heareth the word of the kingdom, and understandeth it not, then cometh the wicked one, and catcheth away that which was sown in his heart. This is he which received seed by the way side (Matthew 13:19 KJV).

 

There are all kinds of things on the wayside.  Some are there because of accident, neglect, or deliberately.  The State of Alabama will send laborers to clean up the wayside just as Jesus sends laborers into the harvest. The church has the responsibility to sow the Word of God and help people understand it as the journey through life.  Many are by the wayside due to accident, neglect, or deliberately. 

Pray as you travel life’s highway that you share the truth of God’s Word.  You may meet a one tennis shoe, one boot, cap less, half naked traveler who needs a ride.

For My Friend Keilan

Many of you have worked in, on, and around machinery.  Be it a paper mill, sewing factory, or just around the house or on the farm, running a piece of machinery can be frustrating.  There was a sign in our maintenance department that said, “If it twists, turns, or moves, it will give trouble.”

My good friend, Keilan, had a very frustrating day operating/burning a cement kiln.  Day shift at most factories is frustrating enough.  Electricians want to check instruments, maintenance men want to change out equipment, engineers want to change the process, and quality control wants to tweak the feed.

Day shift has too many people watching one another to justify changes.  Supervisors, managers, and corporate constantly walk around with pen and pad taking notes on how to improve their product not realizing that all their busyness creates havoc and chaos for operators.

Keilan was having one of those days.  To complicate the problems, reclaimers that put up the coal did so in such a manner that substance other than coal found its way into the coal tanks creating an erratic burn.  Electricians and instrument adjusting the oxygen analyzers disturbed the airflow that made the burn more erratic. 

The mixing of materials to create the feed to make cement somehow how got mish mashed creating a sub par material that the quality control declared “not up to snuff.”

It had been a hard day for my friend Keilan.  When I relieved him at the evening shift change, he looked as though he had been run through a washing machine ringer backwards.  He had the most bewildered and frustrated look until his eyes met mine.  His eyes perked up and a smile came across his face.  He ran to me, hugged me, kissed me, and said, “I have never been so happy to see you in my whole life.  This has been the worst day of my life burning the kilns.”

Most of us forget how important it is to be a friend.  I admit that sometimes I am not a good friend.  I have had friends be sick and I never called or sent a card.  I have had friends that lost loved ones and I never expressed condolences to them.  I have had friends struggle with divorce and never visited to see if they needed help or words of encouragement.

Perhaps we have been disappointed when a friend or family member did not show for a big event in our lives.  We give the excuse that we do not know what to say.  Can I testify that it not what you say, but that you were there.

I remember visiting the hospital for a lady in the Brierfield Baptist Church community.  I was bi-vocational, so my visit was at night.  When I entered the critical care unit, the whole atmosphere of the room changed from gloom and doom to hope when my eyes met theirs.  A nurse told the family that three people were allowed to visit the sick lady.  The family chose me as one of the three.  The sick lady was close the death.  I prayed for her.  She recovered and lived many months afterwards.

I told of my experience.  It was the first time I ever had a life changing emotion.  I did not understand what happened.  A dear old friend said, “Dummy, when you walked in the room that knew the Lord was with them.  You are God’s representative.”

I have been to several funerals where the family said, “I knew you would come.”  I did not have to say anything.  People say I have the gift of gab, but there are numerous times I do not know what to say.

There is a story called “In the Trenches” from World War I where soldier friends became very close due the horrors of war.  The trench war of WWI was brutal and created a common bond that helped deal with the misery.

One day the friends, Jim and Bill, charged from the trenches into battle.  At the end of the day, Jim lay bleeding to death between the trenches, his friend Bill returned to the trench.  Realizing his friend was missing, the soldier started back in the field of battle.  The shelling continued at its peak.  His commanding officer refused his request. It was too dangerous.  Ignoring the smell of cordite, the concussion of incoming shells, and a pounding in his chest, Bill made it to Jim. Bill found Jim and dragged him back to the trenches.  It was too late.  Jim was gone.

The smug commander officer cynically asked Bill if it was worth the risk.  Bill said without hesitation, “Yes sir, it was.  My friend’s last words made it more than worth it.”  He looked up at me and said, “I knew you’d come.”

I hope I can be that kind of friend, but I feel more like the disciples with Jesus at Gethsemane.

And he said, Abba, Father, all things are possible unto thee; take away this cup from me: nevertheless not what I will, but what thou wilt.  And He cometh, and findeth them sleeping, and saith unto Peter, Simon, sleepest thou? couldest not thou watch one hour? Watch ye and pray, lest ye enter into temptation. The spirit truly is ready, but the flesh is weak.  And again He went away, and prayed, and spake the same words.  And when He returned, He found them asleep again, (for their eyes were heavy,) neither wist they what to answer Him.  And He cometh the third time, and saith unto them, Sleep on now, and take your rest: it is enough, the hour is come (Mark 14:36-41 KJV).

Dedicated to my dear friend Keilan who passed away January 19, 2023

Pyromaniacs and Hope

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

Big Ugly

 

Big Ugly was the nickname of the oiler who helped me operate the cement kilns in Calera.  Until the introduction of computers, kiln burning required keen eyesight, analytical thinking, and quick response by the burner.  It was one of the most pressured positions at a cement plant.  The oiler was critical to successful burning of the kilns.

The two kilns at Calera were 450 feet long and 12 feet in diameter. Each burned 3-6 tons of coal and 75-83 tons of raw mix per hour when operations were smooth.  This produced 40-45 tons of clinker.  Clinkers, mixed with gypsum, produces cement.  Kilns were basically 450 pipe bombs, very dangerous and potentially deadly.

I had been an oiler prior to becoming a burner.   An oiler’s responsibility is largely preventive maintenance.  He is the eyes and ears of the burner.  If an oiler can diagnosis a potential problem, a scheduled time of repair is much better than an emergency.

Once another burner was out taking a visual inspection of the burning process.  Burners did this on fifteen-minute intervals under normal operation.  Bad raw mix could make the inspections more frequent.  When the burner returned to the control room, fire blew from the inspection door and looked like a fire-breathing dragon.  Bumfuzzled, the burner tried to analyze the problem.

His alert oiler saw the fire and ran to the control room.  He told his burner that he saw an electrical trainee and a dufus engineer carrying on of the control modules to the electrical shop.  The control module was the control for one of the major vent fans that created airflow equilibrium in the kiln.  The imbalance created more fuel and air than the kiln could handle.  The burner quickly ran down two of the Three Stooges and returned the control for the burner to get control.  Larry and Curley did not think removing the module would hurt anything.

Another critical piece of equipment was the clinker breaker.  Clinkers are normally marvel sized, but they can be from a tiny speck to six feet balls.  I have shot a couple of four feet clinkers with the eight-gauge tripod gun used to shoot sulfur rings that form in the kiln.  Clinkers larger than 2-3 feet will choke the system and will not enter the clinker breaker.

Clinker breakers are large hammers that break clinkers into manageable sizes.  Even though they are hardened steel, they wear and constant inspections of the belts, a total of six, that drive the hammers are vital.  Should a clinker breaker choke, the belts could burn into and the breaker stop.  If this happens, an oiler has a mess and a burner must start the process of slowing the kiln or possibly a shutdown if the belts are not replaced quickly.

I was working overtime on another shift when the oiler told me that one belt had worked loose.  It did not pose a threat, but he wanted me to know.  Three evening later, my oiler run into the control room in a panic.  He was frantic.  He said that we had a belt loose and we need to call in maintenance men to fix it. 

I told him that I knew it and that it had been loose for three days.  He assured me that he checked it a dozen or more times each shift.  I said that he looked at it without seeing it.  I told him the Bible talked about seeing but not seeing.

I told Big Ugly that I had done it too as an oiler.

And in them is fulfilled the prophecy of Esaias, which saith, By hearing ye shall hear, and shall not understand; and seeing ye shall see, and shall not perceive (Matthew 13:14 KJV).

*And he (John) stooping down, and looking in, saw (blepi-casual glance) the linen clothes lying; yet went he not in.  Then cometh Simon Peter following him, and went into the sepulchre, and seeth (theori-thoughtful and calculated look) the linen clothes lie, And the napkin, that was about his head, not lying with the linen clothes, but wrapped together in a place by itself.  Then went in also that other disciple, which came first to the sepulchre, and he saw (eiden-conveys belief), and believed (John 20:8-5KJV).

* From Doctrine that Dances, Dr. Robert Smith Jr. (pp. 20-21)

Unemployment

 When I was a kid, I went with my daddy to Calera, Alabama to the unemployment agency to “draw his pennies.”  I had a hard time imagining why pennies.  Why not nickels, dimes, quarters, half dollars, or dollars?  The first time I went with him I had images of him bringing out large sacks of pennies.  He said that when you are unemployed you got to draw pennies, which was money you paid to the state that you could get when you were on layoff.  Of course, I asked him why he did not pay the state dollars where he could draw dollars when out of work.

Daddy drew his pennies a whole lot when we moved back to Alabama from Illinois.  Having moved back to the South, unemployment was something that we grew accustomed to experiencing.  Dad was often the low man on the totem pole where he was employed.  With many younger men in the employment pole, daddy had difficulty finding a job.  When he did, at the first economic downturn, daddy got to draw his pennies.  When Christmas season approached, we knew that daddy would be on layoff.  When the weather was inclement, daddy would be sent home.  When the mill quit taking logs, daddy got to stay at home.  When the lime stockpile was overstocked, the plant sent daddy home for a few weeks.  Layoff became a way of life.

I would watch daddy during these layoffs.  He would get depressed.  He did not suffer depression, which I am thankful.  If he had, he would have been suicidal.  When times were hard, he would talk of it since his dad had committed suicide due to a crippling injury.  Daddy did have many days that he would mope around and have feeling of hopelessness.

In order to draw his pennies, he had to be actively seeking employment.  I have watched him on many occasions return home discouraged.  Place after place would turn him down because of his age, repeated unemployment, and dozens of other reasons.  During these times, we never received food stamps or government assistance.  Daddy did not want the government to control him by funding him.  When we farmed, he would not take government assistance saying he wanted to plant what he wanted and not controlled by Uncle Sam.

I was in the sixth grade before daddy had a job where he did not have to worry with a layoff.  He worked at this plant for more sixteen years as a heavy equipment mechanic.  Diagnosed with cancer in 1982, he had to take disability.

I experienced my first layoff while working with Hiwassee Land Company.  We were ahead of schedule one summer and the supervisor gave us a few “Moon Days” off.  It was when Neil Armstrong and crew landed on the moon.

My second layoff came in 1973 from Keystone Metal Moulding when there was the “Oil Crisis.”  I had survived several layoffs by Keystone, which made chrome moulding for automobiles, but new car sells were down and unemployment was up.  I was a die-setter. 

My third time off came in 1976 from Linefast Corporation working as a machinist.  I was beginning to think that I was following in my daddy’s steps.  Times were harder.

The real hard layoff was 1982 from Martin Marietta Cement.  I was an oiler with a new house, a new truck, and two babies, Andy and Angel, it was very hard.  This was the first layoff in the history of the plant.  It was a corporate takeover of Martin Marietta by the Bendx Corporation.

This had nothing to do with an economic turndown, my job performance, or my work record, but I, as did everyone on layoff, took it personal.  I remember as dozens of us went to the unemployment agency.  We felt abandoned, dirty, guilty, and ashamed.  We told it horrible to draw our pennies and then told to apply for food stamps.

With that in mind, my thoughts and prayers go out to all the men and women who are suffering layoff in our area.  Join with me as I pray for them.  I have been there and had it not been for the help of the Lord I would not have made it.  My family and I struggled during that five-year layoff.

 Thus my heart was grieved, and I was pricked in my reins.

 So foolish was I, and ignorant: I was as a beast before thee.

 Nevertheless I am continually with thee: thou hast holden me by my right hand.

 Thou shalt guide me with thy counsel, and afterward receive me to glory.

 Whom have I in heaven but thee? and there is none upon earth that I desire beside thee.

 My flesh and my heart faileth: but God is the strength of my heart, and my portion for ever (Psalm 73:21-26 KJV).

Ye have sown much, and bring in little; ye eat, but ye have not enough; ye drink, but ye are not filled with drink; ye clothe you, but there is none warm; and he that earneth wages earneth wages to put it into a bag with holes (Haggai 1:6 KJV).

PS Aaron came at the end of that five-year layoff. 

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!