Bittersweet Farm

My wife Lois grew up in Wolfe County Kentucky in the little village of Campton where she was born. Campton likes to call itself, “The Friendliest Little Town in the Mountains.” It’s more than a slogan. People really are friendly down there. It is situated in a beautiful part of the Bluegrass State. It’s nicely out-of-the-way. You have to mean to go there.
She lived the first nine years of her life in a white two-bedroom house. It had a tin roof that rang in the rain and a porch, like any self-respecting Kentucky home. The house sat in the shadow of a mountain across the creek from the Campton Baptist Church.

Lois has fond memories of Sundays in Campton growing up. They attended the Baptist Church. After church they would always walk to their Mamaw Banks for chicken dinner and then down to the bus station for ice cream. Mamaw Hatton would get some change from her little black change purse and fund the treat. Lois loved to crawl up on the stool at the soda fountain.

The rest of the afternoon and evening they would spend on their Mamaw Hatton’s porch visiting with the neighbors and watching the traffic until evening came. The kids would get restless and play rowdy games in the yard and Mamaw Hatton would try valiantly to protect her beautiful petunias and impatiens from harm. (In that part of the country the soft drink of choice is a sweet ginger ale they call “Ale-8-One”. The way Kentucky people say it, it sounds like “Al-Eight.” I doubt if they ever whiled away an the evening on the porch without Ale-Eight on hand. My children always beg for it as soon as we get within sight of the mountains).

Lois’ mother is the kind who would not think of taking her children out in public without having them perfectly groomed. You can see this in all the pictures taken when Lois was a girl. Her dresses were spotless above her dimpled knees. Her hair was perfectly clean and cut with strait bangs above her dark eyes.

The little house in which they lived did not have hot running water so to get four little children ready for church took some effort. Lois’ mother bathed each of the children in turn in a wash tub on the kitchen floor. She had to heat the bathwater on the stove. After their baths they would brush their teeth and rinse their mouths with Listerine and spit in the tub. By the time they were all done the water was, well lets just say “used.”
One Sunday morning she had the children all ready for church, bathed and dressed in their crisp Sunday-go-to-meetin’ clothes. That was back in the day when little girls wore white gloves and hats to church. They were just about to step out the door to church, Bibles in hand when disaster struck. Lois and her older brother Alvin begin to jostle one another. Little Lois lost her balance and tumbled into the washtub. Beyond her baptism that morning there would be no more religious observances that day.
Lois’ mother has moved back to Kentucky now. Her grandmothers have passed on. The porches are empty now. Lois has her own way of getting everybody up and ready and making the Lord’s Day special. Hats off to moms around the world today for all they do to point little eyes to God.

Special honor to Allene Hatton, the wonderful mother who raised the mother of our children, a fine Christian woman who worked full-time in an automotive factory for over 30 years to provide for her children on top of all the other things she did.
I am deeply honored that on Sundays my precious mother-in-law, who is a Jesus-follower, watches me preach (after she watches Charles Stanley).

 

Bittersweet Farm–Mother’s Day 2021

I have been to schools, Bible schools, colleges, seminars and seminaries. I have read books and listened to and watched countless hours of lectures. No one has ever taught me more about the Bible than this woman, my mother, Jane A Pierpont.

Every day of my life she not only talked about Jesus but with all her heart she followed Jesus and lived in the Jesus way. With her it was not just “tell” it was “show and tell.” She taught me the books of the Bible, the truth of the Bible, the stories of the Bible. She helped me apply the truth of the Bible to earthy things like a clean room, treating others with love, obedience to authority, and showing honor.

She disciplined me and corrected me literally thousands of times. (I needed more than the average boy). She modeled to me how to show concern for the souls of others. She would walk me though the neighborhood helping me invite the other children to Bible Clubs and she taught hundreds of Bible Clubs.

I like to think of myself as a storyteller for Jesus. She was the first and best example of a storyteller in my life.

I have taught and preached and pastored and lead and told stories for Jesus to thousands of people for over four decades. If you are one of those people and I was a blessing to you thank the Lord, but today I wanted you to meet my first and very best teacher… my Mom. Thanks, Mom.

Bittersweet Farm–Mother’s Day 2021

Thanks, Mom. Thank you for your consistent and life-long desire to follow Jesus and help all of us follow Jesus. For the last 45 years while preaching things spring into my mind from God’s Word that you taught me when I was a little boy. I still see the books of the Bible, (Law, History, Poetry, Prophecy…) as little flannelgraph books on a shelf in my mind. I have made a career of the storytelling you used so much. Sorry for always telling my friends your punchlines. That must have been really irritating.

You filled our lives with good music, music that had rich meaning and significance. You worked hard to add to the income. You didn’t really ever baby us but you were there to point us to Christ and His Word when life was hard. You always displayed a confidence in God even when circumstances were difficult, like that time in Oklahoma when were really were down to peanut butter and pears. Thanks for always making sure we had peanut butter. I forgive you for the spinach. (The doctor is still trying to get me to eat that stuff. I just say “I’ll take the pills and go to heaven sooner, but I’m not going to eat spinach).

You woke us up with a bright song throwing the curtains back on the day like there was something wonderful waiting for us out there. (I didn’t realize at the time how sunny the prospect was for you of just getting me out of the house for a few hours so you could have some peace). You ended almost every day with song, often playing the piano or a recorded of someone who loved Jesus. (I’m still amazed that I was asked to speak at Helen Barth’s Memorial).

You were very good to Dad’s folks and showed them love and respect. Those trips to the farm and the little green house on Auten Road are treasures in my memory. Thanks for always having little treats for us to shorten the trips.

You always had an Avon bag with music in it in case you were asked to sing and you were often asked to sing. I would love to hear you sing again. Who knew there would come a time that you could only Sing His Praise in your heart. One day I want to hear you sing again.

Thanks for making my clothes. Thanks for all the special touches. Aren’t you glad I grew up in the 70’s when you could send me off to school wearing a polyester leisure suit and platform boots and fit right in. Thank you for always decoding television programs so I could see the unscriptural philosophies behind them. Thanks for always insisting I think through my music and reading with a Bible in hand.

Thanks for teaching me to memorize scripture. Thanks for always seeing to it there were nice meals on the table at mealtime, every mealtime. Thanks for the treats every single night. Thanks for making my bed when I was lazy and all the creative ways you tried to get me to do it myself. I often feel genuine guilt for making you do that. I’m so sorry. Call any day and I will drive to Kalamazoo and make your bed. I owe you a few.

In the picture you are wearing a cross. Above all I thank you for living a crucified life and taking up your cross daily and following Jesus.

I give God thanks for you today and I give you public honor. I love you, Mom.

Bittersweet Farm–Mother’s Day 2022

I just returned from the village with my coffee. The forest understory is greening this morning. The daffodils and forsythia add a splash of color. Birds are flocking to the feeders especially in the morning and evening including finches so bright they boost your spirit. The trees will bud and turn green in the next couple weeks. Oh, how my heart longs for those first couple weeks of May. I spent a few hours in the writing loft yesterday mostly puttering, vacuuming up ladybugs and thinking on paper. Sometimes I write with my typewriter-like keyboard. Sometimes up in my loft I just take a nice Pelikan fountain pen and put real words on real paper and pray that they will amount to something artful. Bethel Church is doing well. Bethel Church is my Cherry Log, but that is a story for another day. Ask me if you wanna’ know. Linger in the sun this week if you can. It’s good for you.

 

Learning to Pray

Last week I received an exuberant text announcing that our oldest son Kyle had taken a turkey on opening day of spring turkey season. He had his youngest son Leland along. He tells the story in a guest post. They prayed before they went. They prayed as they hunted. They prayed grateful prayers when they got their Tom. It was a lesson in answered prayer for a little boy.

We heard from out on the west coast where another of our little grandsons lives. He went fishing with some new gear he had won by saying AWANA verses and he was skunked. He caught nothing. He was broken-hearted.

How do we learn to pray and how to deal with unanswered prayer.

This winter I stumbled on an old recording of Uncle Johnny, Holman Johnson, the founder of Camp Barakel, giving testimony, telling story after story of answered prayer. At the end of the talk he quoted John 15:7 “If you abide in me and my words abide in you, you will ask what you want and it will be done unto you.”

A powerful part of answered prayer is to ask according to the will of God. A key to asking according to the will of God is abiding in Christ and his words abiding in us. When that happens we are likely to have the heart God and we are more likely to ask for things that are according to his will.

When I heard the stories of our little grandsons learning of prayer and answered prayer and unanswered prayers I found myself longing that they would abide in Christ and that the word of Christ would abide in them. That is the kind of man I want to be, a man who abides in Christ. A man in whom the words of Christ abide… so that the thing for which I pray and the things I desire are things that please the Lord, things he desires to give.

“If you abide in me, and my words abide in you, ask whatever you wish, and it will be done for you.” (John 15:7, ESV)