Bittersweet Farm
Re-post from last Thanksgiving…
Our first-born was here for Thanksgiving Eve. I gave him the pulpit. He brought a brief Thanksgiving message. It was a meaningful message–worth a listen. You can hear it right here:
Re-posted from 2005
photo by Peter Kroon
Paul Jordan has an interesting habit. Paul is one of the most effective and valuable members of our staff. He is our information technology guy. Every day he sends me an e-mail synopsis of what he has done. I’m grateful for the e-mail but I usually understand very little of what he reports. Sometimes I wonder if he just uses big-sounding computer words to make himself sound busy and important as cover for the fact that he spends hours in his room playing computer games.
[Read more…] about Daily Reports
At Thanksgiving in 1998 we lived in Fremont, Michigan. I sat down one evening a keyed in a few of my thoughts. I never published them. It was interesting to read them now, twelve years–twelve years later. Here they are in case you are interested:
Things are peaceful around the parsonage these days. We fill the place with our seven children and there is always plenty of activity.
Kyle is working every evening for the Knuvers on the dairy farm. He likes to listen to public radio from Inerlocken while he does he chores. Last week we went out to see him at work and found him plowing with a big John Deere Tractor turning over dark soil on a beautiful autumn evening with the sun casting long shadows across the mellow fields.
Last night we all loaded up the truck and went to the library for a couple dozen picture books. The girls are sitting in front of the fire now reading to each other. Sometimes in the fall when the Buckeyes are doing so well we are tempted to cave in and buy a TV but when the children read a book or two a day I know we made a good decision to not have one.
Monday night made a quick trip south. The moon was new and rose over the ripening corn and rusty oaks in the eastern sky. It sat like a lumminous ball just above the trees in the purple sky at dusk as a beautiful autumn day gave way to evening.
Lois, Heidi, Kyle, me, Daniel, Charles, Wes and Hannah all have birthdays between September and December.
In late October Charles and I took in the Michiagan Association of Regular Baptist Churches Annual Conference in Flint. The fellowship, preaching, and music were all great and it gave us a chance to spend a day with Mom and Dad who drove up from Jonesville for the day on Tuesday.
The last leaves of autumn were blowing down as we made our way back across the state home.
(The Painting is by John Sloane)
A Birthday Letter
In northwestern Ohio, on a blustery autumn evening in 1981, we were a young couple getting ready for bed about eleven at night. We would not sleep that night. Pain would force us to dress and drive through the night to Coldwater to the hospital. Through the night your mother would labor and then at about 8:45 in the morning on October 30, 1981 you were born. Now you have a wife and two little boys of your own, so you understand the wonder, the weight, the joy and the thrill of fatherhood. That was 29 years ago today.
A few days before you were born we bought a 1979 Mercury Monarch. It was a very nice little car. It was four-door and deep burgundy in color. It had what they called an Aviator Package interior with air and cruise and electric windows. Big deal. It also had rectangular headlights. I was the first year for rectangular headlights. Before that all cars had round headlights as standard.
You stayed in the hospital with your mother over the weekend. On Monday morning there was some rain and wind when I strapped the car seat into the car and came to pick you up. The water beaded on the finish. I had freshly waxed the car. It was freshly vacuumed. On the way home my heart beat fast with excitement. Your mother was very quiet. I noticed the leaves that had clung to the trees on Friday were mostly gone. For years I would notice that the leaves would usually blow down between your birthday and mine.
We had taken the shelves from the study out and moved them to the church. That room would be yours. We meant to paint it powder blue but it ended up pretty bright. We spent money we didn’t to get you matching Jenny Lind style bed, changing table, and high chair. We bought you a swing that you could wind up and it would automatically rock you to sleep. When it wound down you had to rewind it. When you did it make a loud ratcheting sound which inevitably woke you with a start. I used to love doing that. Your mom always rebuked me for that.
I got you an Ohio State outfit. I’m sure you’ve seen pictures of that. My grandfather Pierpont had died in October a year before you were born. I always thought you were the kind of boy he really would have thought highly of. You know you have his middle name.
I suppose you have heard all these details. They are sweetly burned into my memory because they are so precious to me.
Today Wesley will play his last football game of the year in Saline. They will play the only team in the league they have lost to. They have lost to them twice. They lost to them on the first game of the year and last week. The last game was a meltdown just before the half. Still it is fall and it is football and it is my last son to do such things. From here on out it will have to be grandsons.
Reading over the letters I used to write for your birthday and read aloud to you over our birthday breakfast, I realize they were just stuffed with advice. You have followed it and you have a blessed life.
David was a man after God’s own heart who would do God’s will. (Acts 13:22) I have always seen that in you. You are a man who longs after the heart of God and the things of God and you have always wanted to do the will of God.
You have always been at your best when you were humbly responsive to truth and tender to the voice of the Spirit in your life. Now that you have precious sons of your own I’m sure you understand what I mean. Above everything else your desire for them is that they would have hearts tender and yielded to God. If any of us ever outgrow that we will not finish well.
This week I heard of a pastor friend whose grown son made devastating, sinful choices. They are picking up the pieces. I am teaching 1 Kings this week. It is the story of the meteoric rise and tragic fall of Solomon. It was a sobering reminder to me of the possibility of men who have every advantage overriding their good sense and descending into devastating folly.
By the grace of God I want to live close to the heart of God, continually engraft the Word of God into my soul, a seek him with a whole heart that I might not wander from His commandments. (Psalm 119:10)
You are a man after God’s own heart. You have a deep, embedded desire to do God’s will. It’s like a glowing ember lying in the bottom of your soul. Fan that ember into roaring life and burn for God with an unusual flame. Many will gather to warm their hands at the fire of your faith if you do. When you look up into their faces, some of them will be very familiar and very dear to you.
I love you, son, more than even many words can express. I look forward to seeing you on Monday. I will try to remember to bring you some nice books I have been saving for you.
Ken Pierpont
Granville Cottage
Riverview, Michigan
October 30, 2010
Here are a couple of related re-posts that I think you will like, especially those of you who are experiencing the nest emptying out. If you are a young parent you might want to take a quiet moment and listen to this story or read it.
Here is the title story from my book Sunset on Summer. Download and enjoy. Let me know what you think.
Sunset on Summer
Thanks to Daniel for producing the podcast.
Things are changing fast. I am sailing away at a clip from my youth into uncharted waters they call “mid-life.” I am finding it bittersweet. I used to have so many plans. I still do. But now along with the plans I have memories like treasured photos of children who have grown up or places that have grown sacred.
One memory that will never fade from my mind took place on Labor Day our last year all together under one roof as a family. The next summer our first born son Kyle would leave for a year of missionary service and then it would be off to college a continent away.
We had spent the day together in the yard working in the herb garden, grilling out, reading, talking, and sipping lemonade. We played a little touch football, Mom standing guard with a water hose to make sure no one trespassed into her flower beds. Toward evening we all agreed to drive to Grand Haven and watch the sun set on Lake Michigan.
In a resort town like Grand Haven the whole atmosphere changes after Labor Day. When we arrived it was cool and fall-like. The sun was falling steadily into the lake. We strode quickly trying to reach the lighthouse before the sun disappeared. As we walked the sun touched the horizon and then steadily sank from sight. Walking along more than once I heard someone say, “That was over so fast.” Everyone had gathered and waited to see the last sunset of summer and they were talking about how quickly the sun had set. All I could think about walking out toward the sunset with my precious first-born son was about how quickly the sunset on summer had come.
The whole family gathered at the foot of the lighthouse on the end of the pier and watched the sky turn golden-orange. A few boats growled into the harbor for the evening. A ship sat out on the horizon moving imperceptibly slow going who-knows-where. Gentle waves lapped the rocks. Occasionally a bigger wave spouted up in spray and mist. The wind swept strong over the point and we all stood close to keep each other warm. There was a sweetness in the air. My heart grew tender and alive to the world around me.
My mind went back through the years with my son. They passed swift as a summer- short as a sunset. We went to a few ball games together. We camped out together a few times. Together we gazed into a few campfires. Together we floated a few rivers. We went fishing a few times. We washed the car together a few times. I taught him to tie a tie, shake hands, and drink his coffee black. I taught him the books of the Bible. I taught him to ride a bike and a few days later I taught him to drive. Together we laughed and cried. We loved a couple of dogs together, together we buried them, and together we hurt. Together we tried to understand the mysteries of life and love. A few times we walked together under a full moon in awe at the wonder of God’s world. Together we sang and prayed and worshipped God. And soon, for the first time, we would go on– but not together. The reality of it settled in on me that night on the pier.
As the purple of night pushed in on the pale blue and orange twilight we turned and made our way back. Kyle was holding his little sister Hope. She was giggling over his shoulder at her mother when suddenly she said “Momma” for the first time. Lois was delighted and her eyes glowed. Hope looked back with the same lively brown eyes. One child ready to go make his way in the world was carrying another just learning to talk.
When we reached the boardwalk we all turned and saw the lighthouse and pier lights blinking red against the dusk. A string of white harbor lights lined the catwalk. The afterglow of the sun cast the lighthouse and the pier light in a sharp black silhouette. Stars appeared in the growing darkness overhead. Lovers held one another or walked hand-in-hand. Fishermen packed up their gear and sauntered toward shore. Children climbed on the rocks. Everyone made toward shore along the lighted walkway.
In an hour we had watched the sun set on summer and turned toward autumn with a life-long memory in our hearts. I felt the pain that always comes with love and my soul whispered; “Breathe deep, walk slow, hold tight to those you love, the sun is setting and it will be over so fast.”
Whenever I think back on that evening I hear the words again and again, “That was over so fast.”
As evening softly fell we stood on the back porch of Kyle and Elizabeth’s little cottage in the dunes trying to make ourselves leave. Kyle went inside and came out with a small box. It was gift for me.
[Read more…] about A Kneeling Father
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