Bittersweet Farm

It’s a cold December evening in the western suburbs of Chicago. The Year of our Lord 2006. We’re gathered in the family room enjoying the warmth, light, and fragrance of the fire. Our Christmas tree glows in the corner. I’ve read some Christmas stories to the family. Now we’re listening to carols on Moody Radio. Hannah is puttering with some cookbooks and reading cookie recipes aloud. I like what I hear. Within an hour she’s got a couple sheets of cookies cooling on the counter.

Outside there is a noise. We are working for a ministry that employs a number of single young people. In the evenings they are responsible for their own meals. They are at an age when they are rarely unwilling to eat if they are offered food.

When I hear the noise outside I know what’s coming… I get up and turn off the radio. From outside our door we can hear carols. I walk over to the counter without a word and pick up a large tray of fresh cookies. They are still warm from the oven. I swing open the door. Carols pour into the room.

When the cluster of young people finish their singing I walk out with the cookies. They eagerly clear the tray. They smile and chatter. Their faces are red from the cold.

“Thank you. How did you know we were coming?”

“We didn’t. We just happened to have some fresh cookies ready. Your timing was perfect,” I said.

We bid them good night and Merry Christmas and they retured the greeting and shuffled off into the night.

This time of year it’s always perfect timing for songs about Jesus. It’s always perfect timing for kindness and cookies. Come to think of it, the time is always right for songs of loyalty and love for Jesus and deeds of love and kindness. Jesus people should always be ready for both…especially at Christmastime.

Ken Pierpont
Granville Cottage
Riverview, Michigan
December 10, 2012

Here’s a Christmas re-post I thought you would enjoy:

December 16, 1995 was a Saturday. My message needed work. Our church occupied a little Grange Hall West of Mt. Vernon, Ohio just off State Route 229. North of the church was a bit of woods wrapped around a pond. My study window looked out from high on the wall of the church over the pleasant field and the wood and the pond. I would sometimes watch deer come to water there.

When I arrived at the church that morning it was cold. The hall was shaded by Maples in the summer and the study was cool. In the wintertime it was freezing. I started the space heater – the only source of warmth besides my imagination – and rubbed my hands together before it as if it were a roiling blaze on a stone hearth in a rustic lodge. In fact it was the corner of a Grange Hall converted into a place of worship with a tiny study where I could read, study, pray and prepare meals to feed my flock.

My books were there on sturdy bookshelves built by a friend from discarded concrete forms. They are still in service today. I see them and use them every day and when I do I think of my dear friend Gary Mickle who built them and continually discovered ways to help me. (Ask me about the killer water-heater, root beer in the baptistery, the broken picture window, the spinning bumper, real peppermint patties, kissing an Amish man, and two hundred luminaries and a truck load of sand some day).

The hall and my study were humble, but they were answers to prayer and I was grateful for them. God had even let me see them in a dream before he provided them for us. I liked the peaceful silence. I liked the hardwood floors. I loved the window of a dozen small, frosty panes, aimed toward the wintry scene to the north.

I sat looking out that window gathering thoughts – forming a plea to God for help to feed the people. I wanted some quiet carols to inspire warm Christmas thoughts in me. I reached to the shelf above my desk and tuned my radio to the classical music station in Columbus, Ohio. Seasonal sounds filled my study – beautiful carols that tugged on my soul. Now it was getting warm in my little study. The music came to an end and the announcers offered a copy of a new CD by the group Chantacleer. The recording would go to the third caller. I dialed the number and … I was caller number three.

They apologized that I would not be able to enjoy the recording before Christmas. I gave them my address and an enthusiastic Christmas blessing and turned my thoughts back to my sermon preparation.

To my delight, the recording arrived in Tuesday’s mail – in plenty of time to enjoy it for almost a week before Christmas. They had made special arrangements to expedite the shipping. Since then I have purchased two other Chanticleer Christmas recordings.

When Christmas Eve came that year it was on a Sunday. That night we had a Candlelight service in our little hall. It was filled with dancing light, beautiful music, worshipful voices, excited children, and people who loved one another and loved the Lord Jesus.

From the highway that night our little hall and the ring of cars around it must have seemed like an anachronism. Travelers would have no way of knowing what was inside. People were saved in that hall. Three of our ladies would be with the Lord within a year or two. One of them, a single mom, left two teenage boys. One of our finest young men would not live to marry or raise a family but die in the prime of his youth – it’s been years since Travis died, and it is still a bitter shock to think of it. Two of the little boys are pastors now. It was humble, but Christ came there. He came sweetly and simply–but he came.

Where meek souls will receive him still the dear Christ enters in.

An interesting post script: A few months later John Worth, my brothers father-in-law asked; “Do you like your Chantacleer CD?”

“Yes, I do,” I said. “How did you know about that?”

John smiled and said, “I was battling a winter snowstorm on my way from Michigan to my son’s house last Christmas and I was listening to the radio. I heard you call in and win the CD.”

Warm Christmas thoughts to all of you.

Granville Cottage
Riverview, Michigan
December 19, 2008

I wrote this piece at Christmastime in 2008 but I have not posted it to the site yet. Thought you might enjoy reading it. It’s about honoring your parents at Christmastime.

The wind starts somewhere in the coldest part of Canada, gathers force over vast Lake Superior, blows across the Upper Peninsula, sweeps down the length of Lake Michigan creating snow and spreads it across the lower third of the state.

On the leading edge of that snow band is a city with a musical name—Kalamazoo. It is there that my little brother serves as the Minister of Music and Fine Arts at Northeastern Baptist Church. His name is Nathan. Nathan is the baby of the family. I’m not allowed to say he is the favorite, but Mom and Dad really do love him special and for good reason. He deeply cherishes them, too. Mom and Dad would give anything to Nathan. He would give anything for them. It is as beautiful a relationship as I have ever seen between parents and a son. Mom and dad are extremely grateful to God and proud of him and of his beautiful family.

Full-House

Sunday night was Nathan’s big Christmas deal, full choir—everyone in their finest. Mom and Dad were planning to attend if the weather allowed them to. Sunday afternoon they checked the weather and started out. Snow began to fall. They don’t drive fast. With the snow falling they slowed down even more, but made their way determinately on.

Nathan has my father’s tender heart and love of truth. He has my mother’s devotion to Christ and love of music. Add to that thousands of dollars worth of piano lessons, many thousands more for a music degree and many, many hours of piano practice, patient parenting, exemplary older siblings, the grace of God, and you have one powerful, musical, pastor. He is a gift to the church and a delight to my parents.

They arrived safely at the church just in time for the service. The church is a thriving church and it was full for the evening. They wondered if there would be a place to sit, but they didn’t need to worry. As they made their way into the church they were greeted warmly by the people and shown to the best seats in the church reserved just for them, so they wouldn’t miss a thing.

When I think about my Mother and Dad basking in the warmth of their son’s music—the very product of their own love and gifts and convictions—and when I think of them listening to their grandchildren singing in the choir from their special reserved seats, my heart is flooded with joy even though I wasn’t there to see it.

After the program many of the church people told them how much they loved Nathan and his family. They drove back through the night home. When they visit Evangel I am going to see to it they get good seats—after all they have done for me, it’s the least I can do.

Ken Pierpont
Granville Cottage
Riverview, Michigan
December 8, 2008

Christmas pressures have a way of bringing out the real you. Have you noticed?

I’m at the mall Christmas shopping. I’m waiting at the curb. A car pulls up. A dear, sweet, old, grandmother-type opens the door and gets out. Her husband is dropping her off so she won’t have to walk far.

What happens next I will never be able to get out of my mind. If I had this scene on YouTube it would go viral. She puts her purse over her shoulder and closes the door. Her husband sees a parking place open up close-by. He is checking his rear-view mirror to see if he can dart over there. He does not look back at his wife, but he hears the door close and assumes it is safe to drive away. He guns his engine to be sure he gets the coveted parking spot before anyone else can. His haste will cost him.

What he does not see is that when the door closes his wife’s purse strap is caught in the door. She has the purse securely over her shoulder. When he races away she is spun around and thrown to the ground. I run out to help her to her feet, but see refuses my hand, ignores me. She scrambles to her feet and begins to vomit out vile profanity. I back away to a safe distance.

He parks the car. She stalks over and gets in. He sits at the wheel staring silently forward. I walk out to my car and drive back carefully to pick up my family. When I pass the car I can still hear her using her bar-room vocabulary on him.

She looked for all the world like a sweet little old lady… until she opened her mouth. Then everyone within a city block knew that her heart was as foul as a sewer.

Jesus said a good person out of the good treasure of his heart brings forth good things but an evil person out of the evil treasure of his heart brings forth evil things. I want my heart to be a treasure of good things–even when I skin my knee–at Christmas.

Ken Pierpont
Granville Cottage
Riverview, Michigan
November 26, 2012