Bittersweet Farm

Bittersweet Impressions:

-Red River George (my red Jeep) faithfully helping with a few chores
-Friends that show up with trucks and vans and trailers just when you need them
-Grandchildren playing in the yard
-Lois puttering among in the flowers
-Sweet Hope getting some sun then doing Keira’s nails
-The first of the fireflies over the lush, green lawn
-Swapping stories on the porch with my grandson Koen. He’s talking with his hands and eyes.
-Three sunny days in a row
-A warm Sunday afternoon
-Cool evening breeze moving the leaves in the dark green canopy of trees over Bittersweet
-A soft rain comes in overnight. We don’t see it our hear it. We are fast asleep but in the morning the freshening effects of it were apparent everywhere.
-Thank you, Lord. Thank you. Thank you from the depths of my soul. Your goodness overcomes the darkest evil.

Kindness

I watched a series of programs on Netflix recently. It was called The Kindness Diaries. There were two seasons. In the first season a fellow named Leon drove around the world on a bright yellow motorcycle with a side-car, depending entirely for gas, food, and lodging on the kindness of the people he met along the way. In the second season he drove a fifty-year-old yellow VW convertible from Alaska to Argentina using the same method. (This without a working heater. Sometimes ice and snow formed inside the car).

It was fascinating to watch. The sights were stunning. The acts of kindness were heart-warming often coming from people who had very little. The poverty was oppressive in some places. Leon said he often was helped by people who attributed their kindness to belief in God. He said; “They believe in God. I believe in humanity.”

His theology was incomplete, but along the way he began to call himself a “believer.” I thought of Cornelius, the God-fearing man in Acts who eventually came to follow Christ. Leon seemed like a sweet guy. I hope one day he, too will know and follow Jesus.

Kindness is a beautiful thing, it is a powerful thing, it is a universal thing. When I finished The Kindness Diaries series my heart was stirred with a powerful desire to honor God as a Christian by practicing kindness. Kindness is a fruit of the Spirit and the fruit of the Spirit occurs in those who continually yield to the impulses of the Spirit in the power of the Spirit. The results of that kind of living are not just powerful and heart-warming, they are life-giving and miraculous.

While we are thinking about doing kindness and receiving kindness from people all around the world it is a good idea to remember the teaching of Jesus and how kindness to our “neighbor” the one nearest us with a need. Often the people who need our kindness the most are those who live under our roof.

Bittersweet Farm
Jun2 25, 2019

It’s been a wet spring out on Bittersweet Farm, but it was dry enough to mow last night. Bt evening, I enjoyed the solitude of riding the tractor and the satisfaction of a job well done. After dinner Lois and I sat out on the east-facing porch looking out over the lawn feeling grateful to God for our little place and for our life.

We had Laela, Aspen, and Gunnison with us for the evening. They are delightful little people. It is a reminder to us of those sweet, brief years when our house was full of life and noise and laugher and chaos. Last night little Gunnison got in bed with us and started to fuss. I pulled up a video of his Dad, Chuk, playing the guitar and singing. He cooed along and drifted off to sleep. I hope you are sleeping well and you have a few minutes each evening to reflect on what you have accomplish and what God has done for you.

When the Tent Collapsed

Our family attended an annual meeting of our fellowship of churches when I was about 14. Dad was a bi-vocational pastor. At heart he was a pastor. To support his ministry he taught school. Dad was not a school teacher who pastored on the side. Dad was a pastor who taught school to pay the bills. He is still a pastor but he has not taught school for many, many years.

That summer he and mom decided we would attend the national conference in Kansas City. Mom and Dad wanted to strengthen our faith and our resolve to serve the Lord more than anything in the world. They wanted us to have a happy and enriching experience. They wanted to take advantage of the trip to broaden our exposure to our nation’s history and heritage and natural beauty. We did not have a lot but they did not want us to be uncultured.

We would make a vacation of it by seeing some places of historic interest and we would save money and make it a bit of an adventure by camping out in a tent. A family of six, we filled every seat of the Chrysler and packed the truck full with a tent and gas stove and sleeping bags and bibles and suits and dresses and everything you might need for a vacation to the annual meeting and Bible conference.

It must have been humorous to the other families who were vacationing at the crowded campground out along Interstate 70 that week to see the family of six emerge every morning, Dad brothers and I wearing suits and ties, Mom and Melony in dresses, Scofield Bibles tucked under our arms, off to the conference. The meeting was held in a convention center and attended by thousands.

Things went fairly well until the day it rained all day, I mean all day long. By the time we returned to the campsite, the drenching all-day rains had stopped and the the sky had cleared but our tent had collapsed in the storm and lay pitifully under pools of water. I could tell Dad was discouraged. Mom was really trying her best to be a good sport but camping was not an adventure to her, it was an economic necessity. It was difficult for her to sleep on the ground. She had a great spirit and loved the things of the Lord. She longed to enjoy Bible preaching a music so much that she was willing to endure the camping, but now everything we had was rain-soaked except the outfits we were wearing. We did our best to get our things together and we all went to sleep in a soggy tent with wet sleeping bags.

Dad was discouraged. We agreed never to try to camp out and attend a Bible Conference again and made our way home agreeing that it was probably a bad idea. I know Dad felt defeated. He was discouraged that he did not have the means to put us up in a nice hotel and have sit-down meals at restaurants. I happen to know that he felt like a loser and a failure. In unguarded moments he wrestled with feelings of defeat. I’m sure he felt deeply that he failed at all of his objectives for his family that summer, but he did not fail. He succeeded.

At the time dad pastored a new church plant that was small. We had no pipe organ, no large choir. We had simple gospel singing lead by one of the men and accompanied by the piano back home. At the conference the music was moving. Mom and Dad would sing from their hearts. Well-known, respected national leaders preached. We took notes. It was a good conference. There were displays of christian books which always captured my interest. There were many other families. There were displays and presentations from missions organizations and colleges and seminaries.

I remember the evangelism seminary with Robert Sumner. It stirred my heart win people to Christ. I remember the book my Dad bought me from the book table. I remember tears flowing down Mom and Dad’s faces as they sang with thousands of others. I remember the powerful preaching stirring my heart to one day preach the Word with that kind of confidence, conviction and power. I remember the joy of a few simple meals out and treats at night on the way home from the conference. I have joyful memories of getting back to the campgrounds and night and changing into my swimming trunks that week and learning to swim in the little pool. That summer I was able to jump of the high-dive and swim to the side of the pool. I had never been able to two that before.

Today my sister is a pastor’s wife and has been for many, many decades. I have been a pastor serving the Lord with all my heart for forty years, singing and preaching and teaching and writing and doing everything I can to pour my heart into the Lord’s work. My little brother Kevin, who on those long vacation trips sat between me and my sister Melony with his feet on the “hump” is a faithful pastor and serves full-time today at Camp Barakel making fine Bible Conference and Camp experiences possible for hundreds and hundreds of people every year. My little brother Nathan who sat in front between mom and dad in the old Chrysler has also been a pastor for many years, a fine, faithful, passionate musician, teacher, and preacher with a beautiful Christian family.

The tent caved in and we were not rich. We didn’t have a fancy camper or money for a suite in the hotel. Dad was not a nationally-recognized leader with a position in the fellowship of churches. But the man who put together that trip to Kansas City was not at all a failure. He wanted to do something that would encourage his family to love and serve Jesus and, by God’s grace, he succeeded. All of his children are serving the Lord today and each of them have labored in the same way to raise their children to know and love and serve Jesus too.

The tent collapsed and the family looked a little odd emerging from the tent in suits and ties and dresses on their way to the Bible Conference, but God was at work in the hearts of my parents and I will always thank God for them and try to do with my life what they have done with theirs.

Bittersweet Farm
June 18, 2019

It is sunset on the Lord’s Day out on Bittersweet Farm and my heart is peaceful. I taught my Sunday school class this morning, preached, visited shut-ins to sing hymns and share communion this afternoon and taught the teens this evening. Bethel Church just keeps growing every week. It is cool and beautiful out now as the sun slips from sight. I had no time for my usual nap so I should sleep well tonight. I will lie down soon, read some on my Kindle and then drift into slumber with a grateful soul. I’m a simple village parson and more and more that is all I inspire to be, a village parson who tells stories and writes books and loves quiet evenings on the porch and is easy to live with and really cares about his flock.

Stop the Car Before You Get Out

So this really happened. Got home a little after six and the sun was still high in the sky. I got an apple and took a little stroll around Bittersweet Farm. After a bit Lois came out and suggested we take a little drive to see if we can find some orange and vanilla swirl soft-serve ice cream.

We took the long way down country roads lush with growing things. Farmers are getting into their fields around here, getting crops in. It was a beautiful night.

I slowed to round a corner and suddenly Hope began to scream incoherently from the back seat. I couldn’t make out what she was saying at first. I slowed the car.

“You have a worm on your neck! A worm on your neck!”

Lois backed up against her door and began to scream… “Get it off. Get it off. Oh, no. Now it is on your ear.”

At this point she opens the car door…. yes, you read that right. The car is still moving and she opens the car door and starts to step out and then yells, “Stop the car, you’re going to kill me.”

I say; “Do you want me to stop the car first or get the worm off my face?”

I manage to roll down the window and toss the little green caterpillar out while I bring the car to a stop and Lois gets back into the car and closes the door.

No one got hurt. I think the little innocent worm may even have landed on his many feet, but my sides hurt from laughing.

We drive to a couple ice cream places and then we discover that God watches over Lois with a special love because the little place out on the edge of Homer is displaying the flavor of the week on a little sign out front: “Orange” and the good people kindly mix it with vanilla and we are home before dark to Bittersweet Farm… “Where every day is a beautiful day and the little light in the kitchen is always on.”

Bittersweet Farm
June 3, 2019

#onbittersweetfarm

It was gray today and it started with a nice cystoscopy (look that up. I’m not about to try to describe it). This all went down before breakfast, before coffee—now that is some good, clean, fun. The lady preparing me for this happy little experience asked me a series of questions and made little notes on a clipboard.

When she says: “How much do you weigh?” I quip; “That’s personal.”

She says; “Oh, it’s about to get REAL personal here in a minute.”

She and the doctor were efficient, professional and quick—so all that was good, plus when the good doctor finished probing around and mumbling under his breath he pronounced me healthy and said we don’t have to see each other for six months. I was happy, not that I don’t enjoy our little meetings. With the cystoscopy behind me I fairly skipped out to the car to commence my day and find a good, stout cup of coffee.

I put in a good solid day at Bethel and noticed while I was enjoying dinner with Hope that the sun had come out and the grass out on Bittersweet could be cut tonight. It’s been a wet spring and the grass is growing lush and long. Hope and I cut the lawn. Lois planted some bulbs given to us by folk from Bethel while I helped by watching from the porch. (Hey, I had a rough day). The lawn was restored to its parklike beauty. There is satisfaction in that.

It’s nice to think that I have a full day of work ahead of me tomorrow, a nice little solitary drive tomorrow evening, and a wedding rehearsal with some old friends, and no invasive procedures that are too embarrassing to describe.

Bittersweet Farm
May 29, 2019

I wrote this just before bed sometime last week: After dinner I spent some time in my wooden rocker on the evening porch right under the hummingbird feeder. I came in at dusk when the sky was blushing pink to write a little before sleep overtakes me. I rose early this morning and I’m a good kind of tired. I think I will sleep with the window open to the night air.

My swanky weather app tells me that the overnight low will be around 65 and we will likely awaken to the rumble of thunder in the morning. Lois has been away for most of a week. She has returned home so I will have company to talk and to pray and to feel a welcome presence in the bed beside me while I sleep.

Hope came home joyful tonight with news of an answer to a need she never really prayed for but only thought about. Her eyes were bright as she told the story and there was a little catch in her voice. We talked at dinner about how our Heavenly Father knows what we need before we even ask him. (Matthew 7:7-11).

“God remind us to turn our worries into prayers. You’re a good, good Father. That’s who you are.”

Sunday morning we had a visiter at Bethel from Virginia. He was a truck driver staying in a local hotel, looking for a church to attend. He told me his story. He was born in Northern Iraq, and used to be Muslim. One day, on a spiritual search, he heard in a Christian Church that God is loving like a good father. He said; “I am a father. My heart is full of love for my children. When I heard of the love of God I became a Christian.”

I told his story at Bethel Sunday morning and the people celebrated with him.

It’s true. He is a good Father, a good, good Father.

Bittersweet Farm
May 27, 2019