People look at things from their frame of reference. A musician would see these birds on wires as a musical score. One did. Here is the result:
Holly Sings…
This is our oldest daughter Holly singing a tribute for her mother. Thought you would like to hear it. You can listen here.
Falsely Accused
A Classic Re-posted from 2003
The note from my campus mailbox made my heart pound. It was summons to the office of the Dean of Men. “Please report to Dean Pride’s office at once.” Dean Pride was nothing more than the college disciplinarian and the college I attended took discipline very seriously indeed. The smallest infraction could send you packing home to momma and cost you a semester of academic blood, sweat and tears. Visions of shame and disgrace, failure, ruin and poverty assaulted my mind.
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Eager to Pay
Three or four times a year we try to do a “Preaching Roundtable.” Kyle (our first-born son) and I and whoever of his brothers is available at the time will meet in a small town about half-way between Riverview, Michigan and Granger, Indiana for coffee, conversation and study. Together we will work on sermon material and ideas. We will meet early and spend the morning studying and talking, then we will grab a fast-food lunch and head back to our homes and families and churches.
The last time we met we ate at MacDonalds. I arrived ahead of time and ordered food for all of us. Just as I finished the order Kyle came in and ran across the lobby toward us. The young lady told us how much I owed for the food. I reached for my wallet. Kyle didn’t say anything. He didn’t argue half-heartedly that he wanted to pay. He just raced across the lobby of the restaurant just as I was handing a twenty-dollar-bill to the clerk and he swiped his credit card in the little machine on the top of the counter. Immediately the machine said “payment approved” and I stood there with a twenty-dollar bill in my hand staring blankly at the young lady behind the counter.
She smiled and said; “He was first.”
Thats that way it ought to work. The Holy Spirit inspired Paul to write that God loves it when we do not give grudgingly or under compulsion, but eagerly and cheerfully. (see 2 Corinthians 9:7)
I love that boy. God loves him, too. He loves a cheerful giver.
Ken Pierpont
Granville Cottage
Riverview, Michigan
July 18, 2011
Catfish Bait
A Classic Re-posted from 2003
Homemade whole wheat bread is real bread, store bought white bread is not. Real bread is my preference but it was not my experience growing up. I was raised on white bread that we bought five loaves for a dollar at the day-old bread store. We always had plenty of it because we kept dozens of loaves in the freezer. I’m sure I have eaten thousands of Velveeta cheese and Miricle-Whip sandwiches on white bread in my life-time.
Store-bought white bread made great dough-balls for food fights and it squished down paper thin when used it for grilled-cheese sandwiches. On a warm spring day when we were eager to get to the pond and didn’t want to take time to dig worms we just stuffed a chunk of it in our pocket to use for bait. But as a food store-bought white bread was bland, lacking in texture, taste, and aroma. If this bread ever had a smell it was left behind at the industrial plant where it was manufactured. It had a thin, rubbery crust around the edges. (I never ate my crust, but pealed it off and forced it on the family pets). It was light and spongy. There was nothing to it. You could wad an entire loaf of it into a hunk about the size of a baseball. It was not something you looked forward to facing after a hard day’s work.
I don’t live that way anymore. Yesterday I fought my way home through drifting snow and bitter cold. The aroma of fresh-baked bread drifted out to greet me as soon as I opened the door. On the table was a dinner of “from-scratch” vegetable soup and a couple loaves of homemade whole wheat bread. The bread was fresh, the flour ground by hand from fresh wheat berries earlier in the day. It was still warm from the oven, served with real butter. It was such a delight to watch the children gobble the stuff down. (I recalled scraping half-eaten burgers and cold fries from the van floor and throwing them to the dogs). Here were all seven of the children chattering and eating like so many birds at the feeder.
They are completely unaware that we are slipping them health food in disguise. Real bread is high in dietary fiber and rich in nutrients. There are a host of serious diseases no good parent would wish on his children which whole wheat bread helps to prevent. These diseases include constipation, appendicitis, diverticular disease, hiatal hernia, hemorrhoids, varicose veins, heart disease, diabetes, obesity, large bowel cancer, and gallstones. It’s no wonder our Creator recommendedreal bread as a daily food!
Homemade whole wheat bread is not just a food, it is an experience. Each batch is unique. It has the aroma and texture of a real food. If you spread a generous amount of apple butter on the heel and you have created a delicacy! Just try to force a kid to eat the heel of a loaf of white bread and see what happens. You might take this bread with you to the fishin’ hole but it would be in your lunch-box not your tackle box! White bread from the store is cheaper (if you don’t factor in the cost of the health care you will need to recover from its effects), and for convenience it has no rival, but store bought white bread just has no character.
If you like plaster-of-Paris with jam and tea for breakfast, or if you enjoy seeing your children smear their “P&J” on that flimsy catfish-bait, well it’s your life (even if it is shortened) but when the Lord instructed us to pray for our daily bread, I’m sure white bread is not what he had in mind.
2011 P.S. I’m hoping this re-post will inspire my daughter Hope to follow in her sister’s footsteps.
Also: My parents fed me well, loved me deeply, took good care of me and I had a very happy, healthy childhood…. but we hadn’t gotten the memo on HOME-MADE WHOLE WHEAT BREAD. 🙂
The Grace of Receiving
A classic from 2003
When we moved to Flint to assume the direction of the ministry here at the Character Inn we discarded or gave away many, many things. We now live in an apartment on the sixth floor in six rooms. We have a storage room in the basement. In preparation for our move we hauled away six truckloads of things at one point and gave many things to Goodwill or just threw them away.
There was one thing I could never throw away because it was too meaningful to me. It was my favorite Adirondack chair. A few who knew me well knew it was a cherished possession but there would really be no place for it in our new home. I held onto it until the last minute not sure what to do.
When the day of the move came a dear friend, John Webster came over to help us load the truck. The last item remaining was my Adirondack chair. I stood and looked at it and memories flooded into my mind. The chair has character and a history. It is a very photogenic chair. John and his wife Beth borrowed the chair from time to time as a prop for family photos. Beth’s photos are some of the best I have ever seen. She is the one who took the photo of our family that we have posted on our web site.
John and I stood in the drive for a while. I hated to say goodbye. John and his family were dear, dear friends. When we moved to the area six years earlier, his daughters were a specific answer to prayer as companions for our girls. They were inseparable friends. The Websters began to attend First Baptist and they are still there today.
John and I spoke for a few minutes not wanting to say good bye. I tried to express my admiration and love to him and then I said, “John, we would like you to have this chair.”
“How much do you want for the chair?”
“John, I would never sell it. Why don’t you just let me give it to you?”
“Oh no, Pastor, I couldn’t take your chair,” he said. “I know what that chair means to you.”
“That’s why I want you to have it,” I said.
He said, “Let me take care of it for you until you need it again.”
But I insisted that he receive it as a gift and as an expression of my love and appreciation for he and his beautiful family. When I finally persuaded him to receive the chair as a gift, he thanked me warmly and his eyes were cloudy with tears. So were mine. He considered it an honor to receive the chair that meant so much to me. The gracious way he received my gift was more than payment enough for the chair.
Last weekend John’s daughters came to the Character Inn for a visit. They brought pictures. The old Adirondack chair was in them. Shuffling through the pictures I noticed that John repaired the chair and gave it a fresh coat of paint. So the chair has gone to a good home, to people who appreciate what a fine chair it is and know a little about it’s history.
My heart was warm when I thought of how gracefully, even reverently John received the gift I gave him a year ago. When you think of it giving is a grace, but being a good receiver is a grace, too. The grace of receiving.
Many, many people will never receive good gifts from the Lord Jesus, even the gift of salvation, because they don’t have the quality my friend John has, the ability to humbly receive a gift as a gesture of love from someone else. John was a good receiver because he acknowledged the value of the gift and was willing to receive it without insisting on paying for it. God gave his only Son for our sin. Imagine the foolishness and pride of thinking we could ever somehow adequately compensate God for the life of his son. A person with a right understanding of the value of the gift simply receives the gift with a reverent heart, humble thanks and tear-filled eyes.
Kenneth L. Pierpont
November 3, 2003
Riverfront Character Inn
Flint, Michigan
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