Bittersweet Farm

Bittersweet Farm

Trouble on the Kokosing Gap Trail

Filed Under: Current Thoughts, Faith and Family, Fireside Academy, Virtues and Values

Classic re-post from 2002

“You need to get more exercise,” they said. But when you weigh as much as I did that’s not as easy as it sounds. And on a perfectly innocent-looking day a few years ago it landed me in trouble.

I had talked my then thirteen year old son Kyle into a bike ride with me. We were biking the Kokosing Gap Trail in Mt. Vernon, Ohio. It was a beautiful path along a river built on an old railroad right of way. Most of the trail ran through a cool tunnel of shady trees. Kyle was riding his mountain bike. I had borrowed an antique brown single-speed girl’s bike from my wife. Bad idea.

We started at the trail head in Mount Vernon and rode to Gambier. The village of Gambier is the home of an old Episcopal College. It sits on a hill above the river. The shady streets are lined with old stone college buildings and tasteful homes. The college bookstore was a favorite spot for us. We stopped there for a cold drink before making our way back down to the trail.

The next village was Howard. We pedaled under a high stone arch where Route 36 passes high over the trial. The trail runs away from the river through corn and bean fields between Howard and Danville where the trial ended. We planned to turn around there and make our way back. It would be fun to brag that we biked the whole trail. But that was not to be.

It was about a mile from the end of the trail we ran into trouble. More accurately I ran into trouble. The bike I was riding was old and rusty and the chain broke. We were miles from the car. I needed some exercise but I didn’t want that much. I di

dn’t know what to do. It was a few miles to the nearest phone. No one was home at the time even if we did get to the phone. If I called a friends they would mock me forever for riding my wife’s old bike and breaking the chain. I’d rather they find my body and figure I died in some heroic struggle.

Suddenly an idea came to me. When you weigh over 250 pounds you have a big waist and when you have a big waist you have a long belt. My belt was long enough that it would function well as a make-shift tow line. Kyle was willing. I handed him one end of the belt, I took the other and he towed me all the way back to the car. It was really a nice ride. I didn’t even have to steer. I sat upright and took in the view.

Kyle is a robust twenty-year old in peek physical condition now but at the time he hadn’t had his growth spurt yet. I’ll hand it to him. He didn’t let up all the way back to the car.

While we were putting the bikes back in the van he said; “Hey, Dad. Why didn’t you ride and pull me?” I smiled. Maybe I was fat, but I wasn’t stupid.

When you are out there miles from home on the trail it’s nice to know you are not alone if you get into trouble. That’s why it’s a real good idea to travel in twos as often as you can.

I’m pretty sure Solomon never rode a bike be he understood the value of a friend when you get in a fix. He said it like this; “Two are better than one. for if they fall, one will lift up his companion, but woe to him who is alone when he falls.” (Ecclesiastes 4:9-10 NKJV)

Ten-Star Book Review

Filed Under: Circuit-Riding, Current Thoughts

Read Unbroken by Laura Hillenbrand. It is the true story of Louis Zamperini. It is a page-turner with an amazing plot-twist toward the end. She is a very gifted storyteller.

I found it interesting to notice that Laura Hillenbrad was once a student at Kenyan College in Gambier, Ohio near where we ministered for ten years.

Danny Boy Returns to College

Filed Under: Current Thoughts, Faith and Family

Daniel (third son and sixth child) took off a couple weeks to join us for vacation and travel with me to speak at Camp Barakel. This morning he loaded his car to head back to Grace Bible College in Grand Rapids for his second year in college. He is preparing for the ministry. He will play soccer again this year and he is planning to serve a ministry internship at a church his grandfather founded almost 50 years ago.

It is impossible for me to express the joy he brings to his mother and I. The young man is a delight to my soul and the pride of his mother. We are overjoyed to see him pursue ministry, but it is hard to watch him go.

A Place for You

Filed Under: Current Thoughts, Faith and Family

Because we are so familiar with the Bible, it is sometimes tempting not to read it again. Never yield to that temptation. The Bible is a living book and it is always fresh. It is new with promises and warnings and instructions every day—custom-made for only-God-knows-what we will face. When you open your Bible with an expectant heart sometimes a phrase will just leap into your life.

That happened to me one morning when I was reading one of the most familiar passages of the New Testament. John 14:3… “…I go to prepare a place for you…”

My parents have faithfully served the Lord all my life, day after day and week after week. I’ve never seen anyone with more devotion to Christ and his cause. They were not afraid to face hardship and make sacrifices in the service of Christ. Some of my best life lessons were the result of my parent’s resolve to serve Him no matter what.

My second year of college was one of the most difficult of my life. It was the year Dad and Mom put our family into great hardship because of their resolve to serve the Lord. Dad never had a more impressive title but his salary was very modest. He was the academic dean of a small Bible College in Michigan.

I went back to college in Missouri and the rest of the family moved to Michigan into a small townhouse. It was very, very modest. To complicate things my sister and brother-in-law were displaced for a few months and they moved in with mom and dad in an already-cramped living arrangement.

As soon as classes were dismissed in December I eagerly made my way home for Christmas. When I crossed into Michigan it began to snow on cue like an old movie.

I found my parent’s strange place, in a strange state, in a strange city, in a strange neighborhood. It is disconcerting to have to drive up and down the street looking for your home—where you have never been before.

I was greeted warmly. Dad apologized for the cramped quarters and showed me to a place he had made up for me in the crowded basement. For Christmas break I would be sleeping on a sofa stored in the basement surrounded by stacks of boxes.

I lay in “bed” that night struggling with discouragement. I had no place of my own. Even with my family around me, it was hard to feel like you belonged anymore.

When God released my parents from that ministry they moved back to our beloved Ohio. There was really no way to describe the joy we had in going back… even moving back to the home where we had previously lived. It was a very, very happy trip.

When springtime came and classes were over I aimed my VW for Ohio. I didn’t need a map. I knew the way home. From far away I could see my brothers playing with the dog in the yard, watching for me. It was long before cell phones and with all the variables of a twelve-hour trip, they had to spend the afternoon and evening out there to be sure they would be able to greet me when I drove in.

There were hugs and tears and laughter. Mom made my favorite meal that night. The house smelled like home. There was chocolate cake with chocolate frosting. There were plates piled with goulash. There were stories, one overlapping another.

What lives in my memory even today was when Dad showed me up-stairs to my room. I had a room of my own in the upstairs of the farmhouse. My stereo was there. (Stereos were really, really big back then). My bed and dresser were there. My books were there. My things were hanging on the wall. My clothes were in the closet. My shoes were lined up on the floor. My belongings were there. Beneath an open window was my bed. On the bed was my quilt.

After an evening snack, we watched the evening news and then we all made our way to bed.

I climbed the stairs to my room. I crawled into my own bed and lay awake enjoying the luxury of that last few minutes before being overtaken by sleep. The air moved the curtains. Outside were the sounds and scents of nighttime in the country. I drifted into peaceful sleep in the place my father had prepared for me…just for me.

Jesus said; I go to prepare a place for you… The place He prepares for me will be custom-made with me in mind and nobody knows me like He does. I don’t even know myself as well as He does.

Most of all, He will be there. We will be in the best of places—in the best of company in the place he is preparing for us. “…that where I am you may be also…” (John 14:4)

Ken Pierpont
Granville Cottage
Riverview, Michigan
August 1, 2011

Bird-Songs

Filed Under: Current Thoughts, Pondering His Creation

A Classic Re-post from 2005

I slept outside in a tent with the boys this weekend. The weather was ideal to sleep outdoors. The air was cool but not at all cold. The sky was clear. We enjoyed a fire each night including s’mores and a good-natured jumbo marshmallow war. We slept as well as you can on the hard ground, but well enough to sleep in until awakened as I suppose our Creator intended, by the first light of morning through branches of oak and pine and the natural music of birdsong.

One of the things that keeps me young is a long list of things I intend to do running just below the level of conscious thought in my mind. Some of those things are important and momentous. Others are simple but not less important in their own way. I was reminded of one Sunday morning at dawn. It was a beautiful birdsong too rich and musical for me to describe with a pen. That is when I was reminded of a simple project that has been waiting patiently on my list for a few years.

I would like to learn to identify birds and their songs. Maybe it was one of my mentors, Vance Havner, who first stirred this desire in me, in fact I am sure it was. Havner loved to describe his walks outdoors wherever he was preaching. It was rare for him to describe any time outdoors without some illusion to birds or birdsong.

For a few blissful years we lived in a quaint and quiet retreat at the dead-end of a road. I had a garret study on the second floor of the house with a window looking out to the east over fields. From that window I could often see the children at play with our dog. In the winter colorful birds gathered there to feed, brilliant against the white snow. I watched leaves blow down like rain from the huge Chinese Elm at the corner of the house. I could see across the field to the trees lining the creek and the hillside dotted with Dogwoods every spring.

Often I would start my day in meditation high on one of those hills overlooking the valley were our simple white farmhouse set. At the right time of the morning it was a symphony of birdsong.

I painted the small, enclosed back porch of our house bright white. On the porch I hung jackets on the wooden pegs for every season of the year as my grandfather had done. I put a pair of field-glasses there and a colorful field guide to identify birds. That’s when the idea for the project formed in my mind. My intentions were good but our time there was cut short by the sudden death of our landlord. We had to move and my education in ornithology would have to wait.

A few weeks ago at Camp Barakel we conducted the Thursday night chapel outdoors at sunset. Most birds sing in the morning, a few sing in the night, but there are those that make their most beautiful music for twilight vespers. The wind was blowing in the pines all around us. While we stood listening that evening the music drifted out of the woods, beautiful and sweet. I said to Paul Gardner, “Paul, I wish I knew what kind of bird it is that sings like that.” Paul said, “That is the song of a Wood Thrush” It pleased me to know it. You can listen to the song of the Wood Thrush here.

A few nights later the young people to whom I had been speaking for the week walked quietly to the natural amphitheater in the woods for their final reflections on the week of camp. Their words were sweet to the ears of those of us who’s hearts long for young people to “remember their creator in the days of their youth.” Between their testimonies the silence was broken by the popping of the wood fire and beautiful birdsongs like I had never heard before.

The amphitheater was ringed by rows of white pines with wispy-green needled branches. The birds must have been calling to each other from the branches of the pines. They were very near. I don’t know what you call the birds that were singing the song in the woods that night but I will. Someday I will. I will stroll though God’s creation and I will identify birds by their song and by their appearance.

The Master himself said, “consider the birds of the air.” He even took note of the fall of common sparrows so it must please him for us to study the sound and color of his birds. Their color and their song, their flight and their antics were all programmed into them for our study and delight. We worship and serve the Creator and admire all of his creatures. (Romans 1:25). Something as simple as birdsong stirs worship in our hearts.

“Thou art worthy, O Lord, to receive glory and honour and power: for thou hast created all things, and for thy pleasure they are and were created.” (Revelation 4:11 KJV)

Ken Pierpont
Riverfront Character Inn
Flint, Michigan
July 11, 2005

Keith Green Video

Filed Under: Current Thoughts

This video will capture your heart. Keith Green lived and died faithful to his wife and family and faithful to God. He had a prophetic voice in his time–and still does.

Follow Ken Here