Bittersweet Farm

Bittersweet Farm

Guest Post: Gail Lancaster King

Filed Under: Current Thoughts, Pondering His Creation

These are just a very few seconds long and are from last spring near the NWHS pond. A storm was moving in and I sat in the car observing the behavior of the Canada geese. There were several large families and, as the rain began and the wind picked up, they all got off the shore and swam into the center of the pond, and then lined up so that they each – even the young ones – were facing the direction from which the storm was coming.

Different species of birds survive storms in different ways, but these are waterfowl and, absent shelter, the middle of the pond was the safest place to be. Facing the storm protected their feathers. It kept them from getting broken or mangled. I imagine there is an advantage to being able to know what’s coming, too.

We can learn from them, you know. Sometimes we need to get out there with others who know how to weather a storm, face the right direction, wait it out (and it might get rough), and then celebrate survival by…living. Easier said than done, perhaps…but a good lesson, nonetheless.

Gail Lancaster King
(used with permission)

A Place of Our Own

Filed Under: Bittersweet Farm

A Place of Our Own

How long I longed when I was young to have a place upon which I could fix my name

To have a place on earth to call
My own and share with those I love.

I leased or borrowed or rented or in the case of parsonages, lived by virtue of my calling to a church.

I always wondered how wonderful it would be to have a place upon which I could raise a humble sign that bore my own name—our name.

What would it be like to own a place on earth from which no man could threaten to evict me or censure my actions or charge me rent or make unreasonable demands.

Always I enjoyed my brief occupation of beautiful places not my own and entered into the joy of them if only sitting on a lonely dam or walking
In a patch of wood where I was given leave to walk.

Always I appreciated public land upon which I could place a temporary claim for the price of admittance or fee. The leaves of those trees were just as gold or scarlet, the river running just as clear, the sun on my neck just as warm as if I owned it.

But now by God’s great kindness we have a place—a humble place to call our own for as long as we have the health and strength to occupy and care for it. We have the deed. It’s in our name.

I have not hung a sign, maybe someday I will, but when I lie down at night it gives me pleasure to know I could and that God—he has been good.

Bittersweet Farm
September 2021

Making Friends

Filed Under: Circuit-Riding

Years ago when our first-born, Kyle, was just a little fella with fat cheeks and chubby hands we had a Friend Day at the little village church I pastored at the time. I challenged everyone to bring a friend. I actually asked them to get their friend to sign a card promising that they would be there.

Driving home one day with little Kyle he said with worry in his voice: “I don’t have a friend.”

“That’s OK.” I said.

He said, “No, I want to bring my own friend to Friend Day.”

I had an idea. “Kyle we are going to visit a family. I’m going to talk to them for a while then I am going to tell them about Friend Day. Then I’m going to tell them you have a question. I want you to look your lady right in the eyes and say, ‘I don’t have a friend for Friend Day. Will you be my friend.’ Then I want you to keep looking right at her and just be very quiet.”

We drove to Russell and Pauline Litt’s tidy white home right on State Route 661 in the village of Brandon and went in for a nice visit. Russell was a quiet man. Pauline was more verbal. We made small talk for a while and then I told them about our Friend Day. Then I said, “Kyle has a question for you.”

I looked at Kyle. Kyle looked at Pauline. He said, “Yea, we’re having a Friend Day at church and everybody in supposed to bring a friend, but I don’t have a friend. I really want to have a friend for Friend Day. Will you be my friend.”

In his little hands he was holding his Friend Day promise card. She immediately said, “Why of course we will be your friends. Bring that card over here.”

She took the card and signed her name. On Friend Day they were true to their promise. She wore a flowered dress and he wore a gray suit with a neat tie. The next Sunday and every Sunday thereafter, as long as I pastored the village church in Brandon, Russell and Pauline were regulars.

When I went to the churc

h there were about 60 in attendance. On Friend Day we filled the sanctuary and the fellowship hall and there were 321 souls in attendance. After that our average attendance jumped to over 150 in that little village church.

That is a sweet memory. Russell and Pauline are gone. Kyle is a pastor in Grand Rapids still making friends and inviting people to church. There are other Russells and Paulines out there, though who would be open t

o a friendly invitation to church or lunch or a gospel concert or a cook-out. It’s not that hard. You just have to

lookem’ in the eye and be quiet. 

Bittersweet Farm
September 2021

 

 

Bittersweet Farm Journal | September 20, 2021 | Men and Boys Following Jesus

Filed Under: Bittersweet Farm, Current Thoughts

Barakel Father-Son Retreat | September 17-19, 2021

This weekend I travelled north again (In Spurgeon the GMC) with my good friend Allen Miracle and his son Jacob to preach to dads and sons at Barakel. (Have I ever mentioned that it is one of the sweetest places on earth?)

Kyle preached to men from Hope college on Friday night and then he and Kyle Kenneth, Oliver, and Leland (grandsons) jumped in the Big Red Ford Truck and headed north in the night to join me. It was a perfect weekend, the kind you hope for when you want to make a memory with people you love. Jon Ford lead chapel. Chris Knobloch played the piano and taught the little guys (and there were about 50 of them). Luke Benninger did an amazing job on programming and Dave and Rita made sure we were really well fed.

The boys “blobbed” and swam, played kickball and ping-pong, rode the zip-line over and over again, and they even won a canoe race and rode the Thunder Express. We ate well, as always and enjoyed many stimulating conversations. Some if them were early in the cool morning by the fire. It’s hard to imagine a more delightful way to spend a weekend.

On Saturday night Kyle spoke to the men and sons. It was the highlight of my week to team up in ministry that way. I do really think we helped the men. The ride up and back were times of delightful fellowship. If you ever get a chance to attend a retreat at Barakel, take it. You will be glad you did. (There are Men’s and Women’s retreats coming up this fall and winter retreats as well). You can see them here.

Saved and Baptized!

Sunday our nephew Bobby Gandolfo was baptized. I invited him to Barakel this summer and he was unable to go. He lived in Kentucky. That same week a local church in Berea, Kentucky reached out to him and sent him to camp. He was saved. They have been good to him and it was thrilling to watch his baptism via FaceBook Live. Thank God for good people who are living in obedience to the Great Commission.

 

 

Champion Canoe Racers

Father-Son 2021

 

 

 

 

And Now, A Story

Maybe you have heard me say this, “If I am asked come and tell stories I will gladly come and tell stories–but I will always preach. If I am asked to come and preach, I will come and preach, but I will always tell stories, too.” Either way, when I speak, I speak truth from scripture and I tell stories. That is just how I roll. That is me. This I know about myself and I report it without a hint of apology. If you don’t like preaching with stories in it you will want to surf the web for a different preacher. If you like stories without meaningful truth you will have to look elsewhere. I don’t tell tall tales. I tell true stories with truth within them and truth behind them. I think stories are entertaining, but I don’t tell stories to entertain.

Sometimes I drive to the school in my neighborhood to tell stories. Sometimes I take a long trip cross the state. There have been times it has been my privilege to fly to other side of the country to tell stories to thousand of people. Can you imagine? Other times I just step out on the porch for a telling. I always tell stories in the Bethel pulpit. Sometimes I’m paid handsomely, sometimes I tell over a good cup of coffee, usually I go to tell where you would never go if it was for the money alone. Some of the best places to tell stories are camps, because people have come hungry for story and the best camps creative a powerful setting for story by the fire or by the water or in a quaint rustic chapel or even under stars.

The Bible is over seventy percent narration and Jesus, the Master was a masterful storyteller. Stories stick to the ribs, they tend to lodge themselves in the memory. They can also kind of slip up on you and help you consider a truth you might otherwise resist.

I love what I call the “storytelling moment,” that time when the room grows silent, when ambient noise stops, when every eye is fixed on the teller and every hear is tuned to the story. The storytelling moment is a rare and wonderful human experience. It’s as old as time and it will never go out of style. There will always be stories to tell. Stories can be powerfully arresting, inordinately influential, even if it is told without adornment or props. A story can stand on its own two feet.

This weekend in four sessions I watched the eyes of the men and their sons as we taught the truths of scripture and illustrated them with stories. At times there was laughter, sometimes even a tear or two. But there were times when the “Storytelling Moment” fell over the whole group and we were all together in the story. I like to think some good was done. We won’t know until the final score is in, but truth was told, powerful truth. That’s my story and now its yours.

Bittersweet Farm
September 20, 2021

 

 

 

 

 

 

Packing Up to Leave

Filed Under: Bittersweet Farm

We were packing to leave. I made the two-hour drive to load the unsold candles. There were only a few boxes. I loaded them as quickly as I could, keeping my head down, working hard. I stashed all the implements and accoutrements required to display the candles in a fetching way on top of the boxes. 

Whatever she did must’ve worked. The Preacher’s Wife Candle Company achieved record sales last weekend. She was in a happy mood as I wrestled her gear into the cars. We were almost done save the Herculean task of disassembling the canopy tent and packing it away when a man walked directly up to me looked me square in the face and said, “I’m gonna help you take your tent down.”

I said, “oh, that’s kind. You don’t have to do that.”

He goes, “No I need to turn my truck around right where your tent is so I’m going to help you take it down.”

In his voice I could hear the hills of Kentucky. I asked him where he was from.

“Kentucky,” he said, and I saw a hint of a smile on his face. Kentucky people are humble people except that they’re proud of being from Kentucky.

“Louisville,” he said, and he said it right, the way a native would. 

I’m glad he came along when he did. I had driven the stakes down deep in the hard soil and couldn’t get them up. He was stronger than I and motivated to get my tent out of his way. He pulled them up

When your wife’s company name is The Preacher’s Wife Candle Company people always treat you with a special curiosity or deference. They realize if you’re with her you’re probably the preacher and they kind of look you up and down. Christians are kind. Everyone else is curious or they are openly skeptical.

In a few brief moments we worked together there was something I liked about him. You can do it but you really have to be a rogue for me not to like you if you’re from Kentucky. He had handsome lines in his face a good smile and bright eyes which he aimed directly at you as he spoke.

When we finished our task I helped guide his truck back into place. He shook my hand firmly and smiled and said, “I will see you in the rapture.”

My heart was filled with warmth for my new Kentucky brother.

Lois said, “I should know who they are but I don’t I think they’re on Instagram.”

Almost everyone in these shows has an Instagram presence. I think the whole thing is built on the notoriety that you get on Instagram. The next morning, lying in bed, she announced that she had discovered them.

When the lady walked up to me and offered her husband‘s help she said, “We have a 6 hour drive home.”

I could tell she was tired and wanted to get her big truck on the road. Watching her Instagram story, I realized they had trouble with a tire because they overloaded their truck and it took them over 24 hours to finally arrive safely at home.

I sent them a note of condolence as I’m sure many others did, I found myself secretly hoping that we do meet them sometime before the rapture.

Bittersweet Farm
September 13, 2021

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