Refrigerator Rights

I asked my sister if Granny Hopper’s refrigerator, pronounced frigerater in Chilton County, was still working.  My sister said it was the best one in the house.  Granny’s frigerater is a 1953 Westinghouse.  It looks like a giant tombstone with a big pull handle.

If that frigerater could talk, it would have 70 years of stories.  I remember as a small boy visiting Granny.  The first thing daddy would do is go to the kitchen, check the stove for gumbo, and open the frigerater.  It amazed me that daddy would do that especially if Granny was not at home.  Remember when people did not lock their doors.

When I married and moved from home, I understood the freedom dad had going into Granny’s frigerater.  I would go back home and open mom’s frigerater.  There you could find all sorts of goodies.  It is fascinating to stand in the frigerater door and stare. 

They are like treasure chests.  I can hear momma hollering, “Bobby, shut the frigerater door.”  Sometimes there were too many choices, but I remember there were plenty of times that the frigerater was empty.  Maybe we stare remembering all the good stuff that we have removed from the treasure chest.

Frigeraters are like shrines.  Covered with notes, pictures, and magnets they become sacred.  I know that every time I remove a sacred object I get in trouble.  If I accidentally knock off one of the sacred objects, I panic until I return it to its holy position.

Some people have no respect for holy shrines.  I remember returning home from an evening out with my mouth watering for homemade boiled cookies.  (That is chocolate, oatmeal, pecan cookies.  It is called boiled cookies because you boil the chocolate.)  We called them "cow patties" in Vacation Bible School.  They do look like them.  They were spread out across the table.  While we were out, my brother and his friend were lifting weights in my basement.  They got hungry and went upstairs for refreshments.  They spied the boiled cookies and decided they needed testing for consumer safety and realized they needed some fresh, cold milk.

Walking in the dining room and kitchen, there was evidence of shrine desecration.  Preliminary inspection revealed missing cookies from the wax paper where they were placed to cool.  Further inspection revealed that the frigerater had been entered and a gallon of milk gone.  In addition, a bunch of bananas were missing from top of the frigerater.

I finally deduced that there was no shrine violation, but in fact, my little brother and his friend were energized and much stronger due to the freedom to enter the frigerater.  It tickled me that my little brother had the freedom to go into our refrigerator.  He had been going into our frigerater since he was twelve years old. He will be sixty-three this month.  Going into our refrigerator reveals an act of intimate relationship that my brother had with us.

I think staring into the refrigerator reveals not only a longing for what inside but reveal something deeper.  The human heart longs for relationships

Randy Frazee calls it “Refrigerator Rights.”  He says, “A person with refrigerator rights is someone who can come into your home and feel comfortable going to your refrigerator to make a sandwich with your permission.”  The first thing I do when I visit my brother is look in his fridge.

Rick Howerton says, “People in our lives with refrigerator rights are the ones most apt to let us know they need our help, and they’re the people to whom we feel connected enough to ask for assistance.”

My prayer is that my friends have “Refrigerator Rights.”

Two are better than one; because they have a good reward for their labour.  For if they fall, the one will lift up his fellow: but woe to him that is alone when he falleth; for he hath not another to help him up.  Again, if two lie together, then they have heat: but how can one be warm alone?  And if one prevail against him, two shall withstand him; and a threefold cord is not quickly broken (Ecclesiastes 4:9-12 KJV).

Bear ye one another's burdens, and so fulfil the law of Christ (Galatians 6:2 KJV).

 

Jethro Gibbs Gut Feeling

 Have you ever had a “gut feeling”?  You know the one where you got about something and hoped it was not true.  I had one when I was going up home to check on our place, to cut grass, and do yard work.  On the way there I had a feeling that my friend Bailey was in a bad way. 

Bailey was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer about a year before.  I tried to visit him each time I went home, but for the last several weeks I could not get an answer when I called him.  I figured he was too sick and did not feel like talking and did not want company.  His wife Judy kept me informed through e-mail about each doctor visit Bailey made, so I was able to keep up that way.

I first met Bailey when I attended the University of Montevallo.  I worked in the Physical Plant with the grounds crew cutting grass.  Bailey introduced himself by throwing tennis balls at the grounds pickup as we passed him in the carpenter pickup.  Bailey worked in the carpenter shop.

I made a point to visit the carpenter shop because of my love for the smell of fresh cut wood and the love of building.  I tried to get a job in the carpenter shop, but they did not have any openings.  That changed when the supervisor learned of my cabinet making skills.  This began a long-term friendship with Bailey.

Bailey began at the university on a basketball scholarship from Berry High School.  Berry is now Hoover High School.  Bailey loved to shoot basketball.  He had the built for it at six feet, six inches tall.  We played every chance we got.  He towered over me, and Bailey made me feel short and feel more conscious of me being taller than most folks. 

He chose Montevallo over Auburn to play basketball but quit.  He never got a degree, but he did go to work for the University.  He loved working there and I loved working with him.  Bailey was a perfectionist and I like that.  Every job we did, we did to perfection.

I worked flexible hours in the carpenter shop and Bailey would take me to class and pick me up after class.  I got to play volleyball with the carpenter shop as part of the exercise and fitness program of the university.  The carpenter and paint shop would beat the electrical and plumbing shop every time we played because of Bailey’s and my height.

One fond memory is everyday Bailey, and I would go to the daycare at the Methodist church to pick up his son Keaton then take him to his grandparents who lived near the church.  Bailey loved that little Keaton and a short time later cute little Ashley.  That was more than thirty years ago.  Keaton and Ashley have graduated the university.

Bailey’s surname is Santa Cruz.  I could not understand how this giant, red-haired, fair complexioned man had a Spanish name.  It surprised Bailey knowing I was a history major and did not know.  He said that King Philip of Spain married the Queen of Ireland resulting in Irish people with Spanish names.  People were surprised when they met Bailey thinking he was a short dark-complexioned Latino but seeing this tall Irishman.

I went to see Bailey as soon as I heard that he had cancer.  I wanted to know for sure how he was and what condition he was mentally, physically, and spiritually.  I could tell something was wrong even through his assurance that he was okay.  Each time I visited; you could see the deterioration.

The last time I saw him I called to see if he was up for some company.  He said come over he had just wakened from a nap and wanted me over for a visit.  He was weak and pale but greeted me with his patented smile.  You know you have a true friend when your conversation picks up where you left it regardless of the time in between tête-à-têtes.  That’s a fancy word for heart-to-heart conversations.

Bailey and I talked about his dream house on Lake Shechi which started as a small block cabin and Bailey transformed into a beautiful home in the almost thirty-one years that Judy and he lived there.  We talked about his meticulous care of the centipede and the quality of fishing on the lake.  We talked of the Lord and His care and steady confidence that he was a winner if he lived or died.

At his funeral I learned that Bailey and a college friend played guitars and sang A Living Prayer as a duet at the Methodist Church.  His friend, Kneeland, sang the song solo at the funeral.  I could hear and see Bailey playing and singing.  Bailey told me once how he learned to play and harmonize with Kneeland and others in dorm bathrooms.  Every time we worked in the one where they practiced, he would comment about the great acoustics.

Bailey went to be with the Lord on his birthday.  What a day to start eternity! I told Judy at the funeral that true friends were hard to find, and I had lost a good one.  She said, “I know.”

Blessed are they that mourn: for they shall be comforted (Matthew 5:4 KJV).

Total Electric Antichrist

Returning from a conference in Montgomery, I made a pit stop at a service station across from the Air National Guard.  I always stop there, and I saw some folks from Forest Hill, one of the churches I serve, stopped there also.

As I drove into the parking lot, I noticed that there were several people at the gas pumps, a tanker truck was filling the store’s holding tanks, and people were doing as I was.  I noticed one of the clerks standing in the door talking with a customer.  It’s nothing out of the ordinary, I witnessed this before at this particular station.

As I approached her, I say excuse me.  She said, “I’m sorry the station’s system is down.”  I thought she was referring to the gas pumps because the external gas tanks were being filled.

I told her that I wanted to buy a Coke and a Snicker.  She said she could not make any transactions because the system was down.  I told her that surely, she could figure the cost of a soft drink and a candy bar.  She said she couldn’t.

All of a sudden, my mind raced back some thirty plus years earlier at a Sears Department store in Vestavia, Alabama.  On that day, there was a thunderstorm and the electricity had been off for just a few moments.  I was in the check out and the clerk said she could not check me out because the register was not working.  Now remember, this was when scanning items was in its infancy.  I noticed that the old cash register was still at the checkout counter.  I asked the clerk if she could use the old register or a calculator.  Her answer shocked me.  She said she did not know how to use them.

Another thought I had was an episode at the old Food World in Demopolis.  For years I would do grocery shopping late at night.  Being from “the sticks” in Chilton County, we had to travel thirty-five miles to the Food World in Pelham.  Not getting out much, we would make the trek about once a month throwing in an opportunity to eat at Quincy’s Steak House.  We just got into the habit of going at night.

At the Demopolis Food World, we were in the checkout line around ten pm when the Food World central office in Birmingham shut down all computers to do a recalculation or calibration.

It was mass chaos.  Some folks were in the process of checking out.  All open registers were two to three deep with buggies and no one knew when the system would reload.  Several people got irritated, left their buggies, and went home.  The system came back up just as some were exiting.

When I wrote this article, Pam, Bethel Baptist Associational Secretary, was having trouble with logging church letters.  The Adobe Reader system continuous shuts down.  I spent thirty minutes with her trying to update or reinstalling the Adobe Reader.  Our office work depends on the system working.  The process of updating and adding programs to the system never ends.

After the system shut down in Montgomery, I read this statement in the October 1, 2012, issue of Time Magazine: “Technology makes us forget what we know about life.”  Our technological know-how is preventing us from the everyday know how of living.

These system shutdowns remind me of predictions of the future from preachers, writers, and old folk in the past.  They said that the Bible speaks of a time when there will be plenty, but no one can buy.  The service station had plenty of merchandize, but no one could purchase it.  It is frightening see how easy the world as we knew could quickly shut down.  With each passing day and each advancement in technology, we become more vulnerable to system shutdowns.  When one thinks of that possibility of vulnerability, how easy would it be for a person or group to disable and dismantle life as we know it?

Life is not about systems.  Systems fail.  We must remind ourselves that we cannot allow systems to uneducate or dumb down us about life and how to survive.  The Scriptures remind of a time when systems fail:

 

And I heard a voice in the midst of the four beasts say, A measure of wheat for a penny, and three measures of barley for a penny; and see thou hurt not the oil and the wine (Revelation 6:6 KJV).

 

And he causeth all, both small and great, rich and poor, free and bond, to receive a mark in their right hand, or in their foreheads:  And that no man might buy or sell, save he that had the mark, or the name of the beast, or the number of his name.  Here is wisdom. Let him that hath understanding count the number of the beast: for it is the number of a man; and his number is Six hundred threescore and six (Revelation 13:16-18 KJV.)

 

These verses show us that in the future there will be plenty to buy, but most will not have the resources or opportunity.

Dr. Donald Grey Barnhouse says the above verse means, “The poor are getting poorer; and the rich are still able to retain their luxuries.”  He continues, “One of the great criticisms of the present time is there is scarcity in midst of plenty.  This is the situation which will be accentuated a thousandfold when the Antichrist begins his reign.  It is social maladjustment.”

Dr. M.D. DeHann says that the oil and the wine are symbols of wealth, and the wealthy will have sufficient food for a time.  The poor will give a day’s wages for wheat and barley and the rich will be left untouched until the money is gone. 

Dr. DeHann wrote these words in 1948.  Dr. Barnhouse wrote his in 1971.  We are witnessing seeing signs today.

Just a thought. With government forcing electric vehicles down our throats, think of all the chaos when electricity fails.  TOTAL SHUTDOWN and forget getting a Coke and Snicker.                 

My Eulogy to Pawpaw - Roy C. Moxley

R- Remember

I will never forget the first time I met Mr. Moxley.  He was standing at the entrance of the old Jemison Gymnasium waiting on his sons Tony and Lane after football practice.  It is hard to imagine that was fifty years ago.  I noticed that something was wrong with his right hand.  I knew that he worked at ABEX in Calera and thought he might have injured his hand.  I am remembering asking Tony, “What happened to your dad’s hand?”  Tony said that he burned it when he was a little boy.

Years later Mr. Moxley, or Pawpaw as most called him, would tell folks when they asked about his hand that he wore it out on his son-in-law’s head.  That being me.  That’s what I liked about being around Pawpaw.  We could make one another laugh. And we could get into some great conversation about anything, especially football.  He was an avid Auburn fan.  When Auburn beat Alabama I would tell him “War Eagle.”  The first time I said it he smiled.  I said it meant “wait to next year.”  Then he frowned.

He loved to watch Tony, Lane, and me play football.  I remember our coaches asking his advice about our team and how he thought we would play.  Pawpaw was quick to give his opinion.  It was always fun to share football memories with him. 

Years ago, I had a football game that Pawpaw and I would play.  It was a small player that used small disc or records.  On one side was an offensive play that one player put in the player and handed to his opponent.  There were several defensives on the reverse side.  When pawpaw was on defense he like to blitz me on third down.  Knowing he would blitz I would run the quarterback option and score a touchdown every time.  I still can see us hold our ears to the small record player and laughing.

O- Only Pawpaw

One time we went fishing on Bee Branch.  We boarded a plywood boat and used wooden oars to make our way to his favorite fishing holes.  He said, “There are four crappies under that log.  You cast first.”  I casted two yellow jigs across the submerged log and reeled it back to me.  I caught nothing.  Pawpaw said, “You didn’t hold your mouth right.”  He cast two yellow jigs just like I did.  When he came across the log he caught two nice crappies.  He gave me another chance.  Again, I caught nothing.  Again, he caught two.

I remember one Christmas Eve that the menu of choice was grilled steaks and baked potatoes.  It rained all day.  Pawpaw had the hickory wood ready.  With a large umbrella, Pawpaw and I cooked steaks.  They were especially good that year.  I remember his saying that Granny would complain about her steak not be done enough.  He told her on an occasion or two that if she did not get the biggest one, she could get one well done.

For years on the Fourth of July Pawpaw would grill chicken halves.  He was always eager to take the halves off before they were done.  I can hear him whistling when he was a little disturbed and not getting his way when Tony told him that the chicken needed to cook longer.  He continued to boss the chicken grilling until he passed it down to Tony and Lane.  Pawpaw could not wait for the annual Moxley Homecoming every Fourth.  Horseshoes and croquet were the most popular games.  Croquet would become “sonk” seeing how far we could send the leader into the woods.  Horseshoe tossing would become very competitive.  Each man had his own style.  Pawpaw is now pitching heavenly horseshoes with his brother-in-law Bill and brother Carl.  I can hear all of them bragging and cutting up while pitching horseshoes.

I already miss trips to the garden.  Pawpaw had a green thumb and was proud of his garden.  He would brag about all the produce he carried to the widows at Providence.  Tony and I made fun of him for microwaving tomato seeds.  He fooled us.  They made plants.  He loved raising “better boys” and “beef steak” tomatoes.  All of them were big.  Big cores that is.

Pawpaw spent his life as a machinist.  The family worried about him going to his shed after his health failed and lost his coordination.  I went down one day and watched him on his lathe.  He was using the nub and his left hand operating two different controls as he created a handle for a miner’s axe for somebody at church.  I have the video of him running the lathe that day.  I told his daughter Sharon that Pawpaw was in his element when in front of a lathe.

He never let his disability keep him from providing for his family.  He once told me that a man can do anything once he understands it.  I used that advice since that time.  He once asked why I went to school so much.  I said, “Pawpaw, the more I go to school, the dumber I get.”  I know that he was proud of me.  One of the greatest things he did for me in his sickness and declining health was travel to Linden Alabama to attend my retirement party.  I will cherish that moment and keep a picture with him and keep that memory.

Y -yeah, he did it

Pawpaw had a way with sayings.  They were funny and sometimes did not make sense.  Once he explained them, they still made no sense, but they were pure Pawpaw at his best.

One of his favorite sayings when eating something delicious was “lambing good.”  If you watched him eat, it would make you hungry.  He enjoyed eating.

I remember building Granny a mirrored shelf to hang in the den.  I did not have a hanger on the back.  I told Pawpaw we could drill a small hole in the back.  We got the drill and a bit.  I told Pawpaw we needed to be careful.  Granny warned him and she was serious by calling him Sonny.  Well, Pawpaw the machinist drilled the hole in the back and all the way through the front.  It was a tense, but hilarious moment.  The pretty mirrored sconce had a decorative nail protruding from it.

Having lost part of his nose to cancer doctors used part of his ear to reconstruct it.  He would tell us that he could smell and hear with his nose.

Not too many days ago he left his walking cane on the back porch.  He told me he did it on purpose where his daughter Kay would fuss at him.  He loved life and loved his family, God, and people.

It has been wonderful to have Pawpaw these many years.  In fact, I have been with him longer than my own dad.  Thanks, Pawpaw for the memories, the wisdom, and love you gave me.

Bobby E. Hopper, May 24, 2018

 Roy C. Moxley was my father-in-law, a second dad to me.  When he died, his family asked me to do the eulogy.  I felt it an honor to write a few words.  To have said all that I would have been volumes.  I decided to on a few things that I remember as I say farewell.  Due to a family member that had hard feelings toward me, I thought it best not to attend and gave this eulogy to the pastor.  I cried because Mr. Moxley had been an important part of my life.  It has been five years since I wrote it and I feel compelled to share it with you.  I know that it hurt the family, but I did not want to dishonor a man and his family causing trouble.  It was a real threat if I attended that I would be asked to leave and bodily removed if I did not.  

Mr. Moxley's granddaughter did a slideshow presentation for the funeral.  She was told by the one that did not want me there not post any pictures of me.  I love the granddaughter, my niece that posted one anyway.  It was the one where Papaw and I were in the rain, under an umbrella, and in the smoke grilling Christmas steaks.  The picture is priceless and so true of our relationship.  Thanks Brandi!

I believe that those that banned me will be sorry for their deeds.  I have forgiven them.    

The Sting of Death

 Polistes Carolina, Vespula vulgaris, Dolichovespula maculate, Apis mellifera, and Bombus terrestris are terrible little creatures.  Their very presence strikes fear into most people.  Some people face death as these creatures buzz around them.  They are red wasps, yellow jackets, hornets, honey bees, and bumble bees.

One day I had to rid the eve of the Bethel Baptist Building of a nest of polistes or red wasps.  As I bravely approached the nest with a can of wasp spray, I remembered what my daddy always said when big boys were picking on me.  Yes, I was a runt at one time.  He said, “Son, size don’t matter, a guinea wasp can make a cow run.”

They can make this oversized runt run also.  Anecdotal evidence suggests that red wasp stings feel more painful than stings from other paper wasp species.  I have had my share of stings.  I know that some people must carry an epinephrine pin because bee stings are fatal for them.  Fortunately, I do not need one.  That was not the case for a friend of mine.

During high school summers, I worked for Hiwassee Land Company.  We killed hardwood trees by injecting the trees with weed killer.  Yellow jacket and hornet stings were an everyday occurrence.  We were constantly jarring the trees where yellow jackets and hornets built their nests.  They retaliated by attacking from the sky and from the ground.  It was common to hear, “YELLOW JACKETS” as a coworker raced by us.  We ended each day bragging about how many stings we had.  The most I had in one day was twenty-eight, which was not the record.

Some days were comical.  One day my “future” brother-in-law had busted a zipper in his Levi jeans.  Yes, I know what you're thinking, and they did.  Yellow Jackets found the opening and they entered while at the same time my brother-in-law exited the jeans.

Another day my cousin, now a retired CPA with Buffalo Rock, whacked a small hickory and pumping weed killer into it.  Yellow Jackets covered his pants turning them yellow while hornets buzzed around a huge nest above.  My cousin stood there like a mighty warrior or dumb idiot, I let you be the judge, and swatted yellow jackets saying, “I think I’m in a yellow jacket’s nest.”  Then out of nowhere, a hornet zeroed in on my cousin’s back between the shoulder blades and stung with the force of a kicking mule.  After landing face down, my cousin leaped to his feet and running fast said, “YELLOW JACKETS.”

Other days at Hiwassee were more serious, deadly serious.  One day while taking a break a hornet buzzed around the face of my friend Rickey.  He waved the hornet away several times.  Suddenly, the hornet stung him under his left eye.  In seconds, Rickey broke into hives.  The Hiwassee foreman took him to the emergency room.  The doctor said that another sting would be fatal.  My friend never returned to the Hiwassee woods.

I pondered the wasp nest on the building, my mind returned to 1960 at the eves of our house.  My daddy started building our house in the early to mid 1950’s.  Before he completed it, we moved to Illinois for three years and then returned back living with an aunt until daddy completed the house.  You can imagine how a construction site looks after a three-year absence.  The yard looked like a jungle with all sorts of creatures making it their habitat.  The eves of the house were full of red wasp nests.

Under one eve of the house was a huge red wasp nest.  It was full of red-orange death.  My Grandpaw Chapman used the larvae from the wasp nests to bream fish.  I had watched him take a long stick and knock down a nest.  It looked like fun for a seven-year-old.  A short time later, I took a long stick and punched another orange-red covered nest.  It is hard to explain what happened next, but with the speed of platoon kamikaze dive-bombers, red wasps confused my sandy blond hair for a rival wasp gang buzzing the eve of the house for territorial rights.  Grandpaw did not have this problem.

I learned that day that red wasps are territorial and sting when provoked.  That evening I understood what it meant to be a knot head.  I had wasp stings all over my head.  Boy, my head was sore.  I think it was because I was much smarter.  I learned more about red wasps that day than I can ever forget.

Since that morning, I have been chased down or either stung by honey bees that do not like to being disturbed by starting a diesel John Deer tractor, hornets that do not like their nest being vibrated by an injector killing the their tree house, yellow jackets of the same tree that do not approve of the roots of their tree being jarred, and bumble bees that hate the roar of a bush hog trimming their yard.

While I were courting, I carried my date home one night after an evening of fun.  When we entered her home, she screamed as a heinous monster greeted us in her living room.  Actually, the heinous monster was her older brother whose face honeybees had distorted and his eyes swollen shut.  My date thought he had on a monster mask, but it was his face.

It seems that her dad and two brothers had been robbing a bee gum earlier that day.  The older brother did not like an itty, bitty honeybee buzzing around his nose.  Warned by his dad and younger brother not to provoke the bee, the bee unnerved my brother-in-law, and he did an uh oh! Yep, he swatted at the bee knocking on his dad’s lip.

Honeybees seek revenge when humans steal their honey and take swats at their workers. The bee stung my father-in-law, and his upper lip looked the caricature of a bear’s head or that of a monkey’s lip.

The next day, a Sunday, was a humorous day at my date’s household.  Her dad had huge lips, her older brother had swollen eyes, and the younger brother, who escaped without a sting, had swollen ears from hearing about the bee raid over and over.  I could not help but laugh.  Her father and brothers looked like the three monkeys of see no evil, hear no evil, and speak no evil.  The evil was stealing itty, bitty bee honey.

With all those stinging thoughts, I ready my can of spray just like gun slinging cowboy flexing his fingers before a gunfight.  With the speed of a darting bee, I brutally executed those red stinging carriers of death.  One by one they dropped.  One last desperado hid behind the nest waiting to get retribution for his fallen comrades.  When he moved, I got him and he too floated harmlessly to the ground.  I blew the nozzle of the can and sang, “Another One Bites the Dust Uh Huh.”

“O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory?  The sting of death is sin; and the strength of sin is the law.  But thanks be to God, which giveth us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ. (I Corinthians 15:55-57 KJV)

What is your favorite bee, hornet, or wasp story?

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What do you think when you hear the phrase, “O death, where is thy sting?”

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What do you fear about death?

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Prayer:  Father, death is part of living.  All will experience it unless you return.  Help me when I approach death to face it with confidence that you give through Jesus Christ our Lord and Savior.  I know I will experience the resurrection after I die.  Thank you that death will be just a sting, but eternity will be forever.

Hold You Me

 Today is another magnificent moment in your being

Your celebration of life occurring every first day of September

Forty-six years provide many moments to remember

Life’s experiences endow with moments worth re-seeing

 

The moment my eyes feasted upon you beginning life’s journey

Daddy’s little girl so beautiful gave an adventurous thrill

Suddenly the huge responsibility of fatherhood gave a chill

As moments of joy became instant unknowns and uncertainty for me

 

That which was ambiguous suddenly is nearing half-century shrewdness

Wisdom gained by daddy’s little girl desiring to experience life her way

Brought the monumental and heartbreaking as well as wonderful play

Wisdom by practice or the mistakes of others can be a tangled mess

 

As precious moments of our being, bring us together expressing love

Hold you me are words that remind of the importance of being a dad

Lifted little arms with open hands etched in mind and time make glad

Hold you me, three little words that express the love of God above

 

Through the years and the moments of life that have been full of pain

Opportunities come to express love and make the day breathtaking

Today is such a day for Daddy’s little girl to experience the amazing

Your calling is one that helps people learn to love and enjoy life again

 

Happy birthday and thanks for those three words that started my day

Hold you me are words that daddy's love to hear daughters say

Blue Moon Insomnia

 Blue Moon you were beautiful as you rose in the night sky

Your Alabama Yeller hue glowed as you peeped over the trees

Growing in size on the horizon as you climbed so high

The touch of fall in the clear air had a romantic breeze

 

Dazzled by your reflection on Harrison Lake one night

Two lovers embraced, enchanted by mirror moons spell

The higher and brighter you grew the moment was right

Hearts enmesh by hypnotic sights, sounds, and smells

 

This magic moment renewed in us with each full moon

Lunar manipulation over tides, seas, hearts, and minds

Folks doing all manner of curious activities soon

Commence howling and frolicking as someone that is blind

 

Since God placed you in the sky to rule the night

You have been the cycle of time that never fluctuates

Affecting all of life ensuring that seasons are right

The standard of time for people and never late

 

At three in the morning you lit up the room

Throwing me into a mind dazzling array of thought

Which drove rest and sleep to impending death and doom

Reflecting on our time with you on the lake cannot be bought

 

All the things that captured my day now disrupting my sleep

Blue moon you have seduced me into this cranial working out

Laying by my lover and trying to be quiet and still without a peep

In twelve hours, you hide and I will close my eyes in sleep no doubt

Dedicated to Lisa and her love for a full moon on Harrison Lake

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.