Bittersweet Farm

Its Thanksgiving morning. I got up early, brewed a pot of coffee spent some extra time reading my favorite Bible and thinking about how good the Lord has been to me.

From my desk at work I can look out through a beautiful arched window on the campus of the Institute in Basic Life Principles Headquarters. The building is in a park-like setting with ponds, and waterfowl, trees, a footbridge and a lighted walk. The last leaves of autumn have been blowing from the trees over the last few weeks.

On the hour hymns chime from the clock tower as young men and women stroll to lunch up the undulating walk from the main building. One of the young ladies who strides up the walk every day is my daughter Heidi. She is nineteen years old now. The sun glows off her long, blonde hair. She is not the little fat-cheeked girl she was just yesterday. My heart wells up with thanksgiving for her. Outside my door my oldest daughter works as my secretary. We have hours of fellowship together every day.

Hannah has dinner ready ready when I get home and often cookies.

Daniel and Charles drop in for a minute to talk. They are fine, strong, handsome, Christian sons. The fragrance of good food wafts up every day tugging me downstairs for lunch. Every day I am overwhelmed with a sense of the goodness of God to me. Monday I had breakfast with Wes, Tuesday with Daniel, and Wednesday with Charles. I love them, they love me, and we all love God. Hope is seven and a continual delight to my heart. She is full of lively conversation until the last hour of every day.

My cars don’t always run well, but I have blessings that will never wear out or rust or go out of style.

Last Sunday I asked the family to come and help me close my Thanksgiving message by singing:

For the beauty of the earth
For the glory of the skies,
For the love which from our birth
Over and around us lies.
Christ Our God to Thee we raise,
This our hymn of grateful praise.

I am thankful for the beauty and variety of the seasons.

I am thankful for abundant food, abundant clothes, warmth and many luxuries almost every day of my life.

I am thankful for the people that God has put in my path through the years, especially those who have helped and supported and encouraged me, even when I didn’t deserve it.

I am thankful for those who have opposed and misunderstood because they have made me closer to God and confirmed my faith. They have stimulated God to compensate for their injuries in with gifts no one can ever take from me.

My heart is full of thanks for my wife and the eight children that God has given us. They are a continual happiness to me. They are healthy and each of them know and love the Lord.

Our oldest son has taken a wife who loves the Lord. We hope soon to have the beginning of another generation of Pierponts.

Most of all I am grateful for the forgiveness and cleansing of Jesus. “Blessed is he whose transgression is forgiven, whose sin is covered.” (Psa 32:1) The older I get the more conscious I am of the fact that I deserve to be in hell, but God in mercy has forgiven me and he is making a home in heaven for me.

I am thankful for thousands of people who, for some reason, put up with my ramblings every week – Thanks for reading what I write. I hope it tugs you godward.

What are you thankful for?

Ken Pierpont
Brook Place
Hinsdale, Illinois
Thanksgiving Day
November 23, 2006

On top of all of that the Buckeyes beat Michigan… again!

Take a look at Holly’s post about the weekend of ministry. I think you will like it.

Two dogs lived on Grandpa’s farm, Dolly and Skippy. Skippy was colored like a Beagle but he had long legs and was about the size of a Golden Retriever. He was a sturdy, affable farm-dog. He lay on the porch when Grandpa was home. He followed him to the field when he was farming. When he was gone he ran rabbits and killed ground hogs. He was patient with children and he knew when to stay out of Dolly’s way.

Dolly’s name did not adequately describe her rugged character. On winter nights she would contentedly burrow down into a snow bank and “drift” off to sleep. In the morning grandpa would step out on the back porch and whistle. She would rise from her sleep, shake the snow off her coat and bound for the house.

Grandpa had a fanciful imagination and he had read all the Jack London stories. Maybe that’s why he told me that he was pretty sure she was part wolf. I believed him for a last three reasons; I was young and vulnerable, I admired my grandfather and he knew how to “put a story over,” and even a kid could tell Dolly had a wild side. She could have been a character in a Jack London story herself.

Those dogs were never in the house they didn’t have a pedigree, but they were well-fed, they were loved, and they served a purpose on the farm. They managed the ground hog population. They announced the arrival of guests and warned unwanted intruders. They added life to the place. They lived simple and happy and they both died in a contented old age right there on the modest farm where they lived their lives.

They never did a dog-show, pulled a dog-sled, or attended obedience school. They were never house-broke, they didn’t have invisible fence, they didn’t wear sweaters. They were never penned up or chained and neither of them ever wore a lead. Even without formal training they had common dog-sense. If Grandpa and Grandma left for a weekend visit or vacation they didn’t hire a kennel. Skippy and Dolly just kept and eye on things and looked after themselves. They were just garden-variety, farm dogs.

Sometimes we can just cherish a “too-high” opinion of ourselves and while we are yearning for stardom, success, fame, fortune, promotion, and notoriety we are wasting our precious life and squandering the simple joys all around us every day. I don’t know about you but I imagine myself as a “farm dog” kind of guy.

I don’t mind staying around home. I’m happy with plain food and a simple life. I like it when people take me with them on a walk but I don’t mind hanging out on the porch or curling up by the fire. I’m just a little suspicious of strangers who don’t smile or maybe smile too much. Fancy people are interesting but I think people like plain folk better. Plain like Skippy and Dolly who scouted the hills of my grandpa’s farm when I was a boy growing up.

Live in harmony with one another. Do not be haughty, but associate with the lowly. Never be conceited.

(Rom 12:16 ESV)

Kenneth L. Pierpont
Brook Place
Hinsdale, Illinois
November 15, 2006