Hoppy, Gene, and He

Roy Rogers and Daughter

Roy Rogers was my childhood hero. I never watched Hoppy or Gene, but I sure did look up to Roy. And now that I know more about his personal life, I look up to Roy Rogers far more now than I ever did then. Unlike many TV heroes, Roy was as much of a hero off screen as he was on screen, and that is what made him so great.

Roy felt that he had a responsibility to his audience. He felt obligated to be a positive and godly influence to the thousands of children who gathered to watch his movies every weekend. Roy did not act a certain way simply because the script said so. No, whatever Roy said and did came straight from his heart.

Many times, childhood heroes are forgotten. They are outgrown and left in the past. We take their posters off our bedroom walls, stick them in a cardboard box with all of the other paraphernalia, and store it all in the attic to collect dust and never be spoken of again. Roy Rogers, however, is not someone you can do that with. He stays with you for life, and so do the things he taught you. That is because a true hero can never be forgotten.

I am forever grateful for the influence that Roy Rogers has had on my life. He provided me with good, wholesome entertainment when I was a kid. And now that I am older, he is someone who I can look to for guidance and pattern my life after to be the man that God has always intended me to be. I only hope that one day I can be half the husband and father that he was to Dale and their nine children. 

The Storm: When Grandmas Pray

And he arose, and rebuked the wind, and said unto the sea, Peace, be still.

And the wind ceased, and there was a great calm.

Mark 4:39

I have been thinking a lot lately of my grandmothers, so I thought I would share another precious memory from my childhood. When I was a young boy, I was terrified of storms. Why, even just a simple rain cloud could send me into a frenzy. I had to have been no more than five years old when I was visiting my grandmother and great-grandmother one Saturday afternoon. We had just finished eating supper when a terrible storm came. It was thundering and lightning and raining as hard as ever. And I of course was petrified. But my grandmothers knew how to calm my fear.

We sat down on the couch in the den and Granny (a different Granny from my last post) sat on one side of me and MaMa sat on the other side. They said, “Let’s pray.” And so they began to pray that God would calm the storm. When their prayer was over, I opened my eyes, lifted my head, and peered out the kitchen window to see that the wind had stopped and the rain had ceased. There was no question in my mind that day that there is a God and He heard my grandmothers’ prayer. And to me, that meant that He cared about me.

Friend, I still think about that day often and I still know that there is a God who hears me when I speak to Him because He cares for me. And He has put me here today to tell you that no matter what storm you face in life, He can calm it. He is the Master of the wind. Just trust Him.

Maybe you’re here today and you have never come to know Jesus Christ as Lord of your life. If that is so, I pray that you would come to know Him before it is eternally too late for you. Turn completely from all sin and acknowledge Jesus Christ as Lord. If you will do that, He will save you today and keep you saved forever.

Reminiscence: Remembering Granny

"Grace was in all her steps. Heaven in her eye.
In every gesture dignity and love."

~John Milton

Haskell and Marie Rhodes with a much younger me.

Lately I have seen some things that have helped to bring back warm, happy memories of my great-grandmother. I like to think that I have always loved all of my grandparents equally. I have always been very close to my grandmothers, especially. However, there has always been a very special place in my heart for my Granny Rhodes. She was my mom’s mother’s mother. She’s gone on to Heaven now, but I thought I would take some time today to share with you some of the fondest memories I have of her. I have learned so much from the life she lived, and it is my prayer that you can also.

The one thing I remember most about my Granny is her humble, selfless, and giving spirit. I noticed this about her from the time I was very young. When I was a young boy, she was not only Granny to me but she was also babysitter. Sometimes, to keep me from getting bored from sitting around the house all day, she would take me to visit her friends. However, I have no recollection of her ever showing up at anyone’s doorstep empty-handed. Whether it was a pie that she had baked or fresh picked vegetables from her garden, she always had something to give to the person we were visiting.

My Granny had the greenest thumb around. She loved the outdoors and she loved to grow things. Every summer, Granny would turn the back portion of her yard into the largest vegetable garden I ever saw. Squash. Green beans. Cucumbers. Tomatoes. Okra. If you can name it, she grew it. Her summer gardens provided many Sunday dinners for our family. My Granny also grew strawberries, blueberries, and figs, which she used to make the most delicious pies, cakes, and preserves.

Granny had her gardens for more than just our family, however. I cannot remember a summer when Granny did not invite friends, family, and church members to freely pick from anything she had grown. And it would not have bothered her the least bit if they had picked her garden clean. Giving brought her the greatest satisfaction. And it was her giving spirit that always determined what she did and how she did it.

My Granny was a calm, gentle woman. She was soft-spoken. She had the patience of Job. I have absolutely no memory of her ever being angry or raising her voice about anything. Perhaps my earliest memory of her was her explaining that very thing to me. I must have been no more than three or four years old. While I do not have the slightest idea what day it was or what I had done, I can remember her words very clearly. All I remember of that day is her carrying me through her dark hallway, the wood floor probably squeaking as she walked, and her deep, soothing voice saying ever so gently, “I told you Granny don’t get mad easy.” Those words were all it took to brighten my day. And after having spent fifteen wonderful years with her, I can tell you from experience that those words were very, very true.

Though she was always patient, gentle, kind, and soft-spoken, my Granny was no pushover. Anybody that knew her will tell you that in a heartbeat. A classic example is a story told to me after Granny’s passing. Where we live, we have always had to take our garbage to the dump ourselves. One day while at the dump, Granny unknowingly put something in the wrong dumpster. The overseer there did not take too well to that and said something to her about it. Unshaken, she simply looked the man in the eye and said, “Well, would you like me to crawl in there and get it”? The overseer stopped his complaining and walked away, and Granny simply finished what she had gone there to do.

My Granny only left home three times a week. On Fridays, she went to Betty’s beauty shop. On Saturdays, she went to the local Winn-Dixie supermarket. And on Sundays, she drove two miles up the road to Beaverdam Baptist Church where she attended faithfully for more than sixty years. And whenever she went out, she was usually the best dressed person around. However, when she was at home, she dressed for comfort.

I have very fond memories of my Granny’s unique fashion choices. I can see her now walking around the yard in one of my Papa’s old, ragged shirts, her famous polka dot polyester pants, and those old, black leather shoes—one of which had a hole in the sole from when she stepped too close to the fire when burning trash in her back yard. And how could I forget the walking stick? My Granny never went out in the yard without that old, homemade walking stick that my Papa had made so many years ago. It was tall and straight and had no handle. I never could figure out which end was the bottom and which end was the top. My Granny was not the least bit feeble. She did not need that stick to help her walk. I always kind of thought of it as a symbol of the strong, independent, powerful woman that she was. You know the saying, “Speak softly and carry a big stick.” Yes, that was my Granny.

Two weeks before she would go into the hospital and never return home again, I sat down on that old, hard, tacky sofa covered by a hand-crocheted green afghan and had a heartfelt, sentimental conversation with my Granny. She did most of the talking. I don’t remember a whole lot of that conversation, but I will never forget what she said right before I left her house that day. She said, “I love you. Don’t ever forget it.” And I haven’t.

Just writing this today has brought back so many memories. Not a day goes by that I do not miss my Granny. Whether it is the way she pronounced words ending with the letter “a” (she always pronounced them as if they ended with “-er” instead), her quick wit, or the way she would throw her table scraps in the bush beside her back porch (sometimes you would see a dog or cat walking around the yard with ketchup or mustard on its back and you would know that the bush was not the only thing beside the back porch when Granny decided to throw out her scraps), I simply miss having her around. She was a joy and a delight to grow up with. And I am honored and privileged that of all people God chose me to be the one to call her my great-grandmother. What a day it will be when we are reunited in Heaven!

A Unique Gift for Newlyweds

When I have the time, I like to watch old Bonanza reruns when they come on TV Land on weekday afternoons from 3:00-6:00. Yesterday’s 3:00 episode was entitled “The Storm.” To briefly summarize the episode, an old friend visits the Ponderosa and she and Little Joe, the youngest Cartwright, fall in love as they reminisce about years gone by. They decide to get married, and Joe and his brothers work to restore an old, abandoned cabin on Ponderosa land. When the work is complete and the brothers venture inside to admire their work, Adam, Joe’s oldest brother, tells him that there is one last thing and points to a covered object on the floor. When Little Joe asks him what it is, Adam pulls off the sheet and reveals a baby’s cradle.

 In today’s world to a young man about to be married for the first time, giving him a cradle or a crib would most likely be seen as some sort of practical joke. He might even see it as an insult. Most young couples are not ready to have children. They see children as a hindrance, a bother, something that will just get in the way of their time together as newlyweds. But Joe Cartwright did not see it that way. When Adam pulled away that sheet, Joe’s face lit up like the noonday sun and he smiled from ear to ear.

God certainly does not see little children as a hindrance. He loves them, cherishes and adores them. And for some reason, He puts them in our care to love and protect them, to teach them and to train them to be the people that God has always intended them to be. Raising a child is a wonderful privilege, and yet a great responsibility. It takes men and women of undeniable and unshakable faith to step out on faith and heed God’s call to die to themselves and become godly parents who are not afraid to “train up a child in the way he should go, [that] when he is old he will not depart from it” (Proverbs 22:6).

The Peacefulness of the Night

For the invisible things of him from the creation of the world are clearly seen, being understood by the things that are made, even his eternal power and Godhead; so that they are without excuse:

Romans 1:20

I am often amazed at how people can deny the existence of God yet they enjoy the beauty of His creation. As I write this, I am sitting on the balcony of a rented condo at one of my favorite places on planet earth—Myrtle Beach, SC. It is currently around midnight and I am out here alone, enjoying the peacefulness of the night. As far as I can tell, there is no one on the beach, the lights are off in most of the surrounding condos, and most of the campers in the travel park next-door have ventured into their RVs and campers for the night. There is no noise. There is only the calm, peaceful sound of the ocean.

I cannot see anything on the beach. Most everything is black. Some might wonder why I am even out here. However, the cooling breeze, the sound of the ocean, the stars in the sky; all these things remind me that this world did not happen by chance. God made them all, and sometimes we just need to escape from the hustle and bustle of daily life to realize that. How freeing it is to know that there is a God and I am not Him!

If you do not know Jesus as Lord of your life, I beg you to come to know Him before it is eternally too late for you. If you will repent of your sins and trust Jesus alone to save you, He will save you today and keep you saved forever. 

The Little Wooden Church on the Hill

For where two or three are gathered together in my name,
there am I in the midst of them.

Matthew 18:20

I was raised in a very small conservative Southern Baptist church a few miles from our home. And often times I would go with my grandmother to her church, which was very similar to my own. Both churches had less than two hundred members. You could have combined both churches and still not have filled one of their sanctuaries. Everybody knew everybody, and I felt like I was home when I was there. I loved the church I grew up in and find myself missing it more and more with each passing day.

I am now a member of a much larger Southern Baptist church in the same area as the one that I grew up in. What made us leave that quaint little church nearly ten years ago I’ll never know. But I miss it. I feel that it was the size of the church that made it so special. When your church is so small, it is almost like the whole congregation is just one big, happy family. You know each other’s needs and you all work together to meet those needs. You are there for one another. If something happens, it doesn’t take long for everybody in the church to know about it.

We have been at the church where we are now for almost ten years now. Even after that length of time, I still do not know everybody’s names. And I am constantly discovering new people that I did not even know attended our church—people that have been members of our church for years. I find it difficult to be a functioning church family when it is virtually impossible to know every member of that family. It is sometimes a little strange when a name you have never even heard before is mentioned on the prayer list. My mom is constantly taking out the church directory to see what so-and-so looks like. Or she will often ask me “Do you know who they are”? It actually can be quite discouraging at times.

I can remember going to my grandmother’s little country church as a kid and being known by every member there, even though I did not live in the area or attend their church on a regular basis. And they did not know me as “Sue Ann’s grandson;” they knew me as Tommy. There was even one lady that called me “Little George” after my father. While I didn’t particularly care for the nickname, it gave me a sense of comfort to know that the people there were so personable. I felt like they cared about me as a person, and not just because my grandmother was a member of their church. You don’t get that feeling at larger churches.

I feel that churches nowadays are more concerned about numbers than they are about serving God and serving each other. When you visit one of these new mega churches, they have no way of knowing you were even there until they find the slip that you filled out and put in the offering plate. If you were to visit my grandmother’s church or the little church I grew up in, you would be greeted by every member, know their names and the names of all of the children and grandchildren (and probably even the name of the dog), and know their occupation and where they live all before you leave to go the restaurant that day. It would feel more like a family reunion than your first visit to a new church, and that’s exactly the way that it should feel.

About a year ago, the interim pastor of our church talked about accountability within the church. He said that the one major flaw in mega churches is that it is virtually impossible to have accountability within those churches, if only for the fact that it is virtually impossible for everybody to know everybody within those churches. Not only is accountability important, but I feel that a church family should be able to walk the journey of faith together. And you cannot walk together if you do not know each other. It is critical that members within the same church have relationships with one another, and that is virtually impossible within larger churches.

Maybe I am taking Matthew 18:20 too literally, but I long for the days of the little wooden church out on the hill. I am tired of being discouraged because I cannot find a likeminded person within my own church. Hebrews 10:24 says, “And let us consider one another to provoke unto love and to good works: Not forsaking the assembling of ourselves together, as the manner of some is; but exhorting one another: and so much the more, as ye see the day approaching.” I find it hard to believe that God ever intended for his people to go to church just for the preaching. I believe He intended for His people to know one another, love one another and to love and serve Him together. But how is that possible if we do not even know each other’s names? That is why I believe that it is imperative we return to the days of the little old wooden church out on the hill.

Maxine on Jesus

Remember this lady? My great-grandmother used to buy her on tissue boxes. I realize that not all of her cartoons are all that wonderful, but I like this one that my mom sent me this morning. Hope y'all enjoy it too.