IF IT LOOKS LIKE A PIG AND SOUNDS LIKE A PIG

Anyone who has ever had the opportunity to attend a military "boot camp" will no doubt have many hilarious stories to tell.  I've sat around the table with those who have been there and done that and we have shared numerous anecdotes and yarns that happened to us there.  Can I tell you one of them?

I was in the U.S. Coast Guard boot camp on Government Island in Alameda, California.  It must have been around January 1971.   It was a small island in what they called the estuary.  I had no idea what an estuary was at the time.  To me it looked like we were in the mouth of a river.  That river was full of nasty water and slimy mud.  You could run from one end of the island to the other.

There are strange customs that are followed when in Coast Guard boot camp.  One is the custom of being inspected prior to eating a meal.  As a company (usually about 80 or so men) you must pass by the Officer of the Day (OOD)and be checked to make sure that  you were clean enough to eat at his "mess hall".  There are uniforms of the day that must be worn.  Everyone must be in the same uniform and that uniform must be neat and clean.  If one man, just one single man is not neat and clean and in the proper uniform then everyone else must wait on him to correct his problem before they can eat.

I had always thought of California being a nice warm place to live.  In January of 1971 that was not the case.  The uniform of the day was our "wool blues", pants, jumpers and white hats.  We stood there in the cold as the OOD walked among us making sure we were not a health hazard to the rest of the camp. 
,,
As we stood waiting, we notice in the company up ahead of us that there was some commotion.  The OOD must be very upset.  He was screaming, yelling, and using words that a good Christian boy from Alabama was certainly not use to hearing.  It turns out that one of the young men in the company ahead of us had a dirty ring around the inside of his white hat.  This was a total disgrace to the Coast Guard and very disturbing to the OOD.  So everything and everyone stopped while he sent this recruit running back to his barracks to obtain a clean hat. 

The smell of the food from the mess hall drifted between the building and down the streets.  The cold from off the Alameda Bay water crept into our bones as we stood at attention, waiting and waiting.  Finally the young man returned with a "different" white hat.  Now, now we will get to eat.  Oh no.

This hat was not clean enough either.  And so, you guessed it, back again, as we all stood at attention in the cold, ran the young Coastie.  But apparently none of his hats were clean enough.  This greatly disturbed the OOD. 

"If you are going to look like a Pig" the OOD screamed "then you will act like a pig".  There was a puddle of water standing near the roadway where we were waiting.  "Get over there in that puddle Mr. Pig and act like a pig" The young man quickly made his way to the puddle and with his wool blues and his "not white enough hat" lay down in the puddle and begin to wallow.  It was all we could do not to look and not to laugh.  But this wasn't good enough. 

"If you are going to look like a pig and act like a pig then you are going to sound like a pig", the OOD yelled to the top of his voice.  Obediently, the young man begin to make "pig" noises.  "Oink, oink, oink", apparently this was the only pig sounds he knew.  I don't know how long he had to stay there, looking, acting and sounding like a pig. But it was getting darker and colder by the minute and the rest of the companies were allowed to continue to chow. 

Is there any possible good, other than a good laugh we can get from this story?  Well, I've always said that the reason we can't get the world to want to be like Christians is because the Christians look too much like the world.  I am convinced that if the world could see a difference in us they would be more inclined to want to BE like us.  Are you looking like the Christian you claim to be? 

If you look like the world and act like the world and sound like the world, then like Mr. Pig you may be really late or even miss The Supper. 

THE CALL OF GOD

When any of us "old heads" who have been in emergency services of any kind, get together and start telling "lies" someone always says, "We ought to put this stuff in a book".  Well, I thought I would, at least some of the more interesting ones.

I wasn't on this particular call but my boss and fellow paramedic Keith was and I have heard him tell the story and I have told the story many times.  Her is how it goes.

Keith was the director of the ambulance service in Chilton County back in the mid to late 70's.  Keith worked the day shift, another senior medic named Jimmy worked the 3-11 shift and I worked the 11-7 shift.  On Monday morning, Keith and his driver got a call reporting a man stuck under a house.  It sounded interesting at the onset.....it got better.

They drove out into the rural, I mean rural, areas of Chilton County.  These folks didn't even get the Grand Ole Opry on the radio until Wednesday. (Only the old folks will get that joke). So they arrive at an old beaten down wood frame home.  It was built up on rock pillars. You may have seen the type.  You could bend down and see all the way under the house from one end to the other.  The occupants of the home were an elderly man and his wife.  Living with them at that time was their 20 something year old son Johnny. 

Now I don't want you to think that I am making fun of anyone.  Those who know me know that I would NEVER do anything like that.  But Johnny was, how shall I say this....special.  He wasn't the sharpest pencil in the box.  I'm not sure why.  He may have been born that way but we speculated that it was probably because of the amount of drugs he was inclined to enjoy.  At any rate, Johnny had enjoyed the weekend much too much.  He had left the home sometime on Saturday and had spent the weekend out in the woods. Lord knows there was nothing else around that place but woods.

Come Monday morning, after calling and looking for Johnny all weekend, the old man and woman decided to call the sheriff's office and get some help in rounding up Johnny and getting him back to the house or somewhere he might get some help.  After much searching and calling the sheriff's deputy had finally found Johnny.  He was hiding way up under the old house and he wasn't coming out. 

After much coaxing and cajoling with no success the sheriff's deputy called for the ambulance service.  You Chilton County folks have to understand that this was the beginning of rural fire/rescue units and there were not many available in the rural areas.  The ambulance service got called on everything that wasn't law enforcement related.  And I guess it really wasn't against the law for Johnny to be under the house. 

Keith and his partner arrived and were briefed about the situation.  Keith walked over to the edge of the house, bent down and yelled under the building to Johnny.  "Hey, Johnny, this is Keith with the ambulance service.  Come on out from under the house now.  We just want to help you". 

"No way"!  Johnny said firmly.

"Ah, come on Johnny".  Keith called out,  " No one is going to hurt you". 

"I'm not coming out".  Johnny replied. 

Keith was desperate.  He knew that if Johnny didn't come out someone was going to have to go under that old house and get him. Keith had an idea that no one there was going to volunteer and that he would be the one crawling under the house to get Johnny.

"Johnny why are you under the house, man?  Why won't you come out"?  Keith asked.

"God told me to come under here".  Johnny said empathically.

There was a long pause.  You could almost see the gears turning in Keith's head. Then softly, gently, Keith said, "Johnny, this is God.  Come on out from under the house". 

"Ok God" said Johnny  "Be right there". 

Johnny crawled out from under the house, dirty, hungry and tired. 

"Johnny"?  Keith said.  "Yes God".  Johnny answered.  "Johnny get up on this stretcher so we can take care of you".

"Yes Sir God" and Johnny climbed onto the stretcher and was taken to the hospital for treatment. 

There are probably many applications we could take away from this story.  One that comes to mind is from I John 4:1 where we are told "Beloved, believe not every spirit, but try the spirits whether they are of God: because many false prophets are gone out into the world". 

I believe Keith for one is glad that Johnny didn't try the spirits that morning.  I don't think Keith had many more miracles left in him. 

PERRIN SAYS THE BLESSING

A number of years ago when my Mom Louise Collum was still with us, she suffered a stroke.  This was one of many medical problems that she had to endure throughout her later years.  Because of this stroke she lost much of her ability to speak.  She was unable to put together simple phrases or ideas. 

The doctor ordered speech therapy for her, for which we were thankful.  The sweet, kind therapist would come to our house several times a week and go over words and phrases with her.  She would teach her things like little songs and simple sayings.  They would count together and say their ABC's and then she would leave us with “homework” to do with her until her next visit.

One thing that we all wanted back then was for Mom to get back her ability to pray.  I know there is an old song somewhere that says, “If I could hear my mother pray again”.  Well, at that point in time I really wanted Mom to learn to pray again because it was always so much a part of our family gatherings.  Oh, I’m not saying that Mom was some kind of great orator.   Her prayers were not the kind you would hear in some great cathedral or some big evangelistic service.  Usually she prayed a little prayer she had learned in her early years.  I can hear her pray it now.

 “Lord, make us thankful for these and all of the blessings bestowed upon us.  Bless this food and sanctify it to the nourishment of our bodies and our hearts to thy service.  Amen.” 

I know it was a “learned” prayer because bestowed and nourishment were not words that were normally in my Mom’s vocabulary.  But to us it was important for Mom to pray again because we knew, to use another old phrase from a song, “When Mama prayed, Heaven paid attention”. 

So we started Mom out saying a simple prayer.  She would work day after day trying to say “Thank you Jesus for the food”.  It didn’t come easy.  Many times we would have to help her.  Many times she would forget the next word.  Sometimes she would just stop and shake her head and smile.  She knew what she wanted to say but it just wasn’t coming out right. 

I guess you know it was exciting for us the day Mama could actually sit down at the table and by herself, without any help, bow her head and say “Thank you Jesus for the food. Amen” 

That little event was brought back into my memory this weekend.  My brand new grandson, William Monroe (Liam) Collum was born.  He is grandchild number eight for Nana and Grump.  What a beautiful, active young man he is.  As I write this little story, he has just arrived at his home in Calera.  Actually it is the same house where my Mom, and his great grandmother lived for many years.

While Liam and his parents were at the hospital his big brother Perrin came to spend the weekend with us.  Perrin’s little cousin Kinsley also came to give Perrin someone to play with besides his grumpy old grandpa. 

Nana prepared the meal and we sat down to eat.  In the past we would have to remind these two little ones to stop, bow their heads and fold their hands and “say the blessing”.  Today was different.  Perrin wanted to say the blessing. 

So as we bowed our heads and closed our eyes (well, not all of us closed our eyes) Perrin said, “Thank you Jesus for the food.  Amen”.  Kinsley broke out into applause.  "Good boy, Grump" she yelled.  I don't know why I was getting positive reinforcement, it was Perrin who prayed the prayer.  Nana said, “Good boy Perrin”, and Grump patted him on the back and told him how proud of him he was.

And I don’t know if this actually happened or not but it’s my story so let me run with it.   Somewhere, wherever heaven is located and wherever the saints of God go when they leave this place, there is one of those saints named Louise Collum looking over the rails of heaven and smiling that big ole smile.  You know, I think she recognized the prayer. 

THE LEGEND OF DENZEL SMOOT

From my view atop the stump today, he wouldn’t look that old.  But in the late 60’s he looked old to me, at least 35-40. By today’s standards he might not even be listed as overweight.  One would describe him as “carrying a few extra pounds”.  But then, to me, he was fat.  But his voice in either time zone would still be about three octaves higher than most men of his age and statue.  It was a shrill, nasal like voice that made him seem much weaker than he was.  His name was Mr. James Tubbs, may he rest in peace.  Lord knows we dealt him enough misery while he was here with us and taught in old Calera High School. 

For many years the junior and senior classes that he taught had made him the brunt of their jokes and pranks.  One would think that once those classes graduated and moved on that Mr. Tubbs would be safe.  But not so.  As new classes of snotty nosed kids moved up, the tomfooleries only worsened.  I had my hand in some of that, I guess I should be ashamed.  But honestly I don’t think any of us ever meant any harm.  We were just dumb kids.

It was registration day for the 69-70 school year.  Each kid with his parents would go into his assigned home room, pick up a registration form, fill it out, turn it back in and then were free to leave.  The next day would be the first day of school.  Mr. Tubbs’ room was to be the home room for the senior boys that year.  One just had to know that something was going to go wrong with this scenario even though there couldn’t have been more than a dozen of us in the class.  The graduating class that year was only 20-25 strong.

I walked into the room and picked up my form.  I sat down at a desk and filled out my form with name, address, phone number, etc.  Then for some strange reason, God only knows why, I went back and picked up another blank form.  This time I filled in a fake address, fake phone number and fake name.  It was on that day and in that place that Denzel Smoot was born.  I turned in Denzel’s registration form and went on my way.

The next day, opening day of school, Mr. Tubbs stood in front of the class and begin to call roll.  “Joe Blake”.  “Here Mr. Tubbs”.  “Bill Collum”, “Here”.  “Kyle Duncan”. “Here”. “Michael Halford”. “Here”.  “Kenny Hay”.  “Here”.  “Michael Milstead”.  “Here” and on and on through the names on the role. 

“Ricky Ousley”.  “Here”.  “Rick Plaice”.  “Here Mr. Tubbs”.  “Roy Lynn Robinson”.  “Here”.  “Denzel Smoot”…..no answer.  “Denzel Smoot”….still no answer.  “Does anyone know the whereabouts of Denzel Smoot”? 

Oh no.  He opened the door and a flood of impromptu answers came flooding from the class room.

“Oh, he can’t be here today, Mr. Tubbs”, one said.   “No, he may be out a long time”.  Said another.   “I think his mother is very sick”.  Someone else chimed in.  “She might even die”.  Now that was stretching it.

“I’m very sorry to hear that”, said Mr. Tubbs sounding compassionate for this family he had never met.

He went on with the roll call and we went on with our day at school.  It happened like this, day after day, week after week.  Mr. Tubbs inquiring about Denzel and the mischievous boys making up tall tales about his situation.   Until finally, Mr. Tubbs just stopped asking about him.  He even stopped calling his name at roll call.  I guess he eventually got the joke.

During those years in school, we not only had roll call in the mornings but we also had roll call after lunch.  Yes, we all ate together.  This was a small town, single “A” school.  So one day about mid-year we all gathered in home room class after lunch for afternoon roll call.  But that day one of Rick Plaice’s cousins, I believe his name was Price. (Of course if you know anything about the Jemison / Thorsby area in that time, 75% of the people who lived there had the last name of Price.)  Anyway, Price had stopped by at lunch and decided to sit in on our classes. 

By this time, Mr. Tubbs did not call roll, he simply looked across the room, looked down at the roll book and made his mark.  As he looked across the room, up and down the rows, back and forth at the roll book checking off everyone’s name and suddenly stopped.  Something was wrong.  He looked straight at Price. 

“Young man, who are you and why are you in my class”.  Mr. Tubbs’ squeaky voice sounded threatening.

“Oh, Mr. Tubbs, he is on the roll.  This is Denzel Smoot”.

Mr. Tubbs looked like he had been hit in the face with a pie. 

“Don’t you move”.  He said.  “Wait right there”.  He grabbed his roll book and headed out the door and up the hallway to the principal’s office.

Denzel, I mean Price, wasted no time.  He raised the window, jumped out, ran to his car and left the parking lot in a cloud of dust.  We all resumed our normal, sweet, innocent faces and awaited Mr. Tubbs’ return. 

The door swung open and Mr. Tubbs stood there tall, strong and defiant.  He was shadowed by Mr. Willie Akridge the school principle.

“There he is, right there, just like I said”.  He pointed at the now empty desk.

I swear his voice dropped 2 octaves. 

“Where is that boy”?  He asked.

“What boy, Mr. Tubbs”?

“Denzel Smoot, you know what boy. He was sitting right there”.

“Mr. Tubbs, there was no one there.  We don’t know Denzel Smoot” everyone agreed.

Mr. Akridge shook his head and walked slowly back to his office. 

Mr. Tubbs sat down with an extremely puzzled look on his face.  The bell rang and Denzel was gone forever. 

But was he?

Fast forward 35-40 years.  I am working for a company, part time, doing training and exercises for emergency service units.  We sit up scenarios of armed intruders, hostage situation and terrorist in courthouses and schools around the state.  I dress up like a bad guy, have my fake guns and bombs and put the “real cops and S.W.A.T. teams and emergency people through a situation as real as I can make it.

On this day the fake bad guy is holding hostages at the end of the hall way.  We are barricaded behind school desk and book shelves.  On the other end of the hall way are the real good guys.  The local S.W.A.T. team is trying to save the day.  (I’ve always said this is like old people playing cowboys and Indians). 

“Throw out your weapon and come out with your hands up”.  The good guys yell.

“No way, Copper.  Get out’a here or I’ll blow their heads off”, the fake terrorist yelled back. 

The real cop decides to use a different tactic.  He will try to develop a little rapport with the bad guy, soften him up a bit. 

“Hey, I’m Captain Carter with the Dallas County S.W.A.T. team.  What’s your name”?

There was a long silence.  Then from the end of the hall came the answer.  It was more of a roar than a statement. 

“My name”?  My name”?

“My name is Denzel Smoot”!

The legend lives on. 

ONE ACCORD

Many of these folk had been together for about three years.  They had experienced some miraculous moments and witnessed some horrifying happening during that time.  They had been following a man called Jesus and that in itself was more than they could fathom.  Now He was gone.  Many of them had been there when He was “taken up” out of their sight as they stood there in the dirt road just outside of Jerusalem.  They had all returned to the “upper room” and remained there, together, until ….

 Well, if you have any knowledge of the Word, you know what happened next don’t you?  I always thought I did.  This is what we read.

 Acts 2:1” And when the day of Pentecost was fully come, they were all with one accord in one place”.

And this is the way I always thought about it. 

These 120 people stayed in that second story room, kind of locked up, hiding, not knowing what to expect.  They talked about Him. They shared stories about Him.  They told of their individual experiences with Him.  They prayed together.  And when they finally came into agreement with each other….then the Holy Spirit, the Promise of God, entered their hearts and entered the room and great things happened in their lives, and in their world. 

That may not have been the way it was taught to me, but that is the way I always understood it.  I’ve taught that precept as well.  “When we get our hearts and minds together, when we pull together as a church or as a body of believers, then the Holy Spirit will come and be with us”.  It was almost like, you and I have to agree and be in one accord with each other before the Promise will come.  But I don’t think that is what this means.

I believe this is what the “accord” thing means.  I think that my being in agreement with you and your beliefs has very little to do with the infilling of the Holy Spirit.  I believe that the precept on which the promise hangs is this:  That my spirit (my mind, my emotions, my will) become one with the mind, emotions and will of God.  When that happens, when that precipice is reached and that step taken, then and only then do we become one with God and His will becomes our will. 

What an experience!  When I come to the place where all of my desires and wants and dreams are no longer based on my selfishness but instead are based upon what God intends…..then my heart becomes His heart and my spirit becomes His Spirit and I can be filled with that Spirit.  That will take you a while to absorb.  But let me encourage you to spend as much time as you need until you understand it. 

When I no longer function, act, react or think because of what I want but am driven by His desires…..then His Spirit will fill me.  His love will empower me and His peace will wash over me. 

That’s what happened in the upper room.  I really don’t think they all agreed on everything. They all liked different colors, different foods, different music, different people.  But I do believe they all agreed with God and His will for their lives.   Does that make any sense to you dear reader? 

When my focus is on what “I” want, when my drive is dependent on “my” desires, when what pushes me and makes me tick is my will…..then I can’t be led by the Spirit of God.  It is only when my “self” dies that I can live by His Spirit. 

I don’t know what will have to take place in your life before that truth snags into your inner being and opens your eyes.  It took a long time for me( fighting self, doing my will, being beaten up by satan and temptations, not understanding “why” I was always wanting to do right and still doing wrong) before I understood that I must be in “one accord” with God.  My will must be His will. 

How can I serve God with all my heart when I am serving “me” with part of it?  God will not accept some of you.  He requires “all” of you.  You cannot serve God and……anything else, especially “you”.

Just after this experience happened to the 120 in the upper room, Peter stood before the crowd and told them this: “..the promise is unto you and to your children and to all that are afar off, even as many as the Lord our God shall call”. (Acts 2:39) He is talking about us, here, today. 

You and I can not only be freed from the guilt of sin through salvation but we can also be freed from the chains of sin and the habits of sin by the surrender of our will and the infilling of the Holy Spirit, call it whatever you will. 

I pray that you will come to that place in which you are in “one accord” with God.