Ken Pierpont's Blog, page 117

God of the Fallen Sparrow

He was a country preacher and a farmer. Early one Saturday morning he was milking his cow. His faith was at low ebb. Times were tough and things were thin and he was feeling low. Bills were due and things around the farm were in need of repair. He sat milking his cow and wondering what he had to say to the people that would gather for worship the next day. Quietly he began to talk out loud to the Lord.

While he was praying he heard a “thump.” Just a few days before he had replaced a window in the milk house. Sparrows had been getting into the milk house and making a mess. They were used to flying through the open window. He walked outside to see that a little sparrow had flown into the new glass and it had fallen to the ground. He stood looking at the little bird for a while. Relief from his discouragement and text for a message flowed into his heart. It was as if the clouds had rolled away and the sun shone again in his soul.

The words of the text were the words of Jesus recorded in Matthew 10:29-31 “Are not two sparrows sold for a copper coin? And not one of them falls to the ground apart from your Father’s will. 30 But the very hairs of your head are all numbered. 31 Do not fear therefore; you are of more value than many sparrows.”

I heard him tell this story from the pulpit of his church in Linnville, Ohio. It is one of the few places all three of us who share the name Kenneth Pierpont have preached.

(From Stonebridge Newsletter – Number 57)

In 2013 I wrote a book–a collection of stories from the farm. I re-told the sparrow story with additional detail. That version follows:

God of the Fallen Sparrow

Grandpa was a farmer and a machinist and, in his mid-fifties he was ordained to the gospel ministry. He worked a full-time job, farmed in the evenings and on Saturdays, and conducted prayer meeting at Linnville Church every Wednesday night and Sunday School and church every Lord’s Day. He and grandma would often have dinner in Newark at a restaurant on Wednesday night on the way out to Prayer Meeting. On the Lord’s Day they almost always had a steak at “The Ponderosa” before going home to feed the cows and nap. No matter how crowded his schedule the people expected their pastor to feed them every week and they didn’t go hungry.

I can see him with his glasses and his Bible and his books and reference material and his old, black manual typewriter. He used every tiny bit of margin to type his messages. He left a briefcase full of them with us when he went to be with the Lord.

Full-time pastors commonly struggle to find time for preparation. For bi-vocational pastors it is even more difficult. One Saturday morning grandpa was in the milk-house with a lot on his mind. His faith was at low ebb. Times were tough and things were thin and he was feeling low. Bills were due and things around the farm were in need of repair. He sat milking his cow and wondering what he had to say to the people that would gather for worship the next day. Quietly he began to talk out loud to the Lord, rolling the burdens of his heart over on the Lord in prayer.

While he was praying he heard a “thump.” Just a few days before he had replaced a window in the milk house. Sparrows had been getting into the milk house and making a mess. They were used to flying through the open window. He walked outside to see that a little sparrow had flown into the new glass and it had fallen to the ground. He stood looking at the little bird for a while. Relief from his discouragement and text for a message flowed into his heart.

The words of the text were the words of Jesus recorded in Matthew 10:29-31 “Are not two sparrows sold for a copper coin? And not one of them falls to the ground apart from your Father’s will. But the very hairs of your head are all numbered. Do not fear therefore; you are of more value than many sparrows.”



Looking at the fallen sparrow and thinking of the word of Jesus, it was as if the sun burned through the clouds of his soul. The God who numbers the hairs of our heads and notices the fallen sparrow would provide, and that is something worth reminding the people who would gather in the morning in the little church on Route 40.

I heard him tell this story from the pulpit of his church in Linnville, Ohio. It is one of the few places all three of us who share the name Kenneth Pierpont have preached.

Grandfather died in October of 1980. Grandma lived another twenty some years. On the day of her funeral I overheard my Dad and Uncle Bill talking. They were talking about my Grandmother’s estate. Because of Grandpa’s hard work, Grandma’s modest, frugal living, and the provision of God, they had all they needed until the day both of them went to the place where there is no more need.

They trusted the God of the fallen sparrow, and spoke of Him all of their lives to all who would listen.

Weather is a Writer’s Friend

Jan Karon says that weather is a writer’s friend. Here is how she put it: “I find weather one of the most useful tools ever made available to an author, not to mention poets, whose work absolutely thrives on it. The Mitford novels are full of weather, and would be intolerably weak tea without it.”

If you would like to read a wonderful little cluster of weather descriptions invest in The Mitford Bedside Companion. It is a treasure if you only buy it for this delightful chapter.

In our part of the world I think we are all longing for any sign of spring but this morning it is eleven below zero. Letting Hazard out to take care of his necessaries It’s hard to imagine a balmy summer evening out on the porch in the rocker reading and sipping tea and chatting up the neighbors but sure as sunrise and birdsong in a couple months it will be mid-April. By then the earth will travel around the sun far enough that the northern hemisphere will lean into warmth, the birds will sing, the crocuses will surface from the cold earth pushing through the snow, the daffodils will bloom, the forsythia will burst into yellow flower, the Dogwoods will blossom, the grass will green, and we will all dress up and fill the church to celebrate our ever-living Lord.

I shouldn’t write too much about this right now because where we live it will still be three months until I can safely leave my jackets or sweaters at home and walk along the Lower Huron River or along Lake Erie in shirt sleeves with the sun shining wonderfully on my neck. They say that hope springs eternal in the human breast. The older I get the more I long for the day we can slide open the windows and smell the fresh earth on the breeze through the screens and take an evening drive with the windows down.

Weather is a Writer’s Friend

Jan Karon says that weather is a writer’s friend. Here is how she put it: “I find weather one of the most useful tools ever made available to an author, not to mention poets, whose work absolutely thrives on it. The Mitford novels are full of weather, and would be intolerably weak tea without it.”

If you would like to read a wonderful little cluster of weather descriptions invest in The Mitford Bedside Companion. It is a treasure if you only buy it for this delightful chapter.

In our part of the world I think we are all longing for any sign of spring but this morning it is eleven below zero. Letting Hazard out to take care of his necessaries It’s hard to imagine a balmy summer evening out on the porch in the rocker reading and sipping tea and chatting up the neighbors but sure as sunrise and birdsong in a couple months it will be mid-April. By then the earth will travel around the sun far enough that the northern hemisphere will lean into warmth, the birds will sing, the crocuses will surface from the cold earth pushing through the snow, the daffodils will bloom, the forsythia will burst into yellow flower, the Dogwoods will blossom, the grass will green, and we will all dress up and fill the church to celebrate our ever-living Lord.

I shouldn’t write too much about this right now because where we live it will still be three months until I can safely leave my jackets or sweaters at home and walk along the Lower Huron River or along Lake Erie in shirt sleeves with the sun shining wonderfully on my neck. They say that hope springs eternal in the human breast. The older I get the more I long for the day we can slide open the windows and smell the fresh earth on the breeze through the screens and take an evening drive with the windows down.

Storytelling Adventures

The first inclination of my life calling was my childhood eagerness to participate in “Show and Tell.” Saturday, after watching our grandbuddie Kyle (K2) Pierpont play basketball in Howell, I drove up the state through Flint, Saginaw, Zilwaukee, Bay City and Pinconning on Interstate 75 and then followed 23 tracing Lake Huron’s great Saginaw Bay through Standish and Au Gres, Tawas City, and East Tawas, to a small theater in Oscoda. East of Oscoda is Lake Huron. West of Oscoda you can drive through two hours Huron National Forest along the Au Sable River to Grayling. If you took route 72 you would pass Camp Barakel.

The wind chill factor was 30 below zero and the wind was blowing across an open field. I hurried into the warm theater which filled up with couples gathered to enjoy one another’s company and strengthen their marriages. The delightful event was sold-out and I preached my heart out to them and told stories that would draw them closer to Christ and to each other. With a prayer that I had done some good I re-traced by way back downstate. The night was cold and the roads were lonely but within my car I was warm and safe and my heart was full. By just a little after midnight I slid gratefully into bed safe and warm beside Lois and went to sleep exhausted but satisfied that I had done the will of God that day.

It was my privilege to preach twice yesterday in the Evangel Pulpit. Since I was a little boy I have had a longing to communicate and since fourteen I have known that my calling in life is to tell the story of Christ wherever and whenever I can to anyone who will listen. The gospel is the story that transforms people and families, cities, states and nations so my favorite way to describe myself is simply as a storyteller.

Storytelling Adventures

The first inclination of my life calling was my childhood eagerness to participate in “Show and Tell.” Saturday, after watching our grandbuddie Kyle (K2) Pierpont play basketball in Howell, I drove up the state through Flint, Saginaw, Zilwaukee, Bay City and Pinconning on Interstate 75 and then followed 23 tracing Lake Huron’s great Saginaw Bay through Standish and Au Gres, Tawas City, and East Tawas, to a small theater in Oscoda. East of Oscoda is Lake Huron. West of Oscoda you can drive through two hours Huron National Forest along the Au Sable River to Grayling. If you took route 72 you would pass Camp Barakel.

The wind chill factor was 30 below zero and the wind was blowing across an open field. I hurried into the warm theater which filled up with couples gathered to enjoy one another’s company and strengthen their marriages. The delightful event was sold-out and I preached my heart out to them and told stories that would draw them closer to Christ and to each other. With a prayer that I had done some good I re-traced by way back downstate. The night was cold and the roads were lonely but within my car I was warm and safe and my heart was full. By just a little after midnight I slid gratefully into bed safe and warm beside Lois and went to sleep exhausted but satisfied that I had done the will of God that day.

It was my privilege to preach twice yesterday in the Evangel Pulpit. Since I was a little boy I have had a longing to communicate and since fourteen I have known that my calling in life is to tell the story of Christ wherever and whenever I can to anyone who will listen. The gospel is the story that transforms people and families, cities, states and nations so my favorite way to describe myself is simply as a storyteller.

Storytelling in the Mitten

The first inclination of my life calling was my childhood eagerness to participate in “Show and Tell.” Saturday, after watching our grandbuddie Kyle (K2) Pierpont play basketball in Howell, I drove up the state through Flint, Saginaw, Zilwaukee, Bay City and Pinconning on Interstate 75 and then followed 23 tracing Lake Huron’s great Saginaw Bay through Standish and Au Gres, Tawas City, and East Tawas, to a small theater in Oscoda. East of Oscoda is Lake Huron. West of Oscoda you can drive through two hours Huron National Forest along the Au Sable River to Grayling. If you took route 72 you would pass Camp Barakel.

The wind chill factor was 30 below zero and the wind was blowing across an open field. I hurried into the warm theater which filled up with couples gathered to enjoy one another’s company and strengthen their marriages. The delightful event was sold-out and I preached my heart out to them and told stories that would draw them closer to Christ and to each other. With a prayer that I had done some good I re-traced by way back downstate. The night was cold and the roads were lonely but within my car I was warm and safe and my heart was full. By just a little after midnight I slid gratefully into bed safe and warm beside Lois and went to sleep exhausted but satisfied that I had done the will of God that day.

It was my privilege to preach twice yesterday in the Evangel Pulpit. Since I was a little boy I have had a longing to communicate and since fourteen I have known that my calling in life is to tell the story of Christ wherever and whenever I can to anyone who will listen. The gospel is the story that transforms people and families, cities, states and nations so my favorite way to describe myself is simply as a storyteller.

I Might Not Live to Be An Old Man

My brother-in-law Bob Dunbar was a generous man. When he suddenly died the first week of February hundreds and hundreds of people gathered to mourn his passing and celebrate his life. Everyone spoke of his serving, his listening, and his generosity. Bob was a giver.

He never let me pay for coffee or lunch. When we gathered to celebrate his life and mourn his death, I discovered that I was only one of many hundreds of people that experienced his generous nature. Last week I gathered a few of the nice gifts he had given me over the years. They were useful, tasteful carefully-chosen gifts. They were quality things purchased with me in mind. They were things that Bob knew I would like because he knew me well.

Bob had an endearing habit I have often mentioned. When the bill for coffee or food would come Bob would arrange to snatch it first. When I objected he would hold up the palm of his hand and with mock seriousness he would just say say, “Please. Please. Let me get this,” then he would pay. I would look him in the eyes and sincerely say, “Thank you Bob.” He would usually say, “You are very welcome,” and you could always tell he meant it.

At his memorial service I knew he would want me to make the gospel clear. I knew he would want me to clarity that salvation is my grace through faith—a gift of God—not of works.

Walking to the pulpit an idea occurred to me that would help everyone there understand the way to eternal life—a way they each could be re-united with Bob again one day. I told the people there about Bob’s habit of saying “Please, please, let me get this,” and I said, “Jesus paid the full price for your sin and He stands with nail-scarred hands extended to us and says, “Please. Please.” Will you humble yourself and believe and receive the gift of eternal life. Bob did. You can too.” The church was packed to the balcony and overflow and everyone grew silent as I used Bob’s life and testimony to make Christ known to his friends and family.

A day or two after the memorial Linda, Bob’s wife, found a small slip of paper folded up and tucked in his wallet. At the top of the paper were the words “Personal Testimony of Bob Dunbar” In the last paragraph Bob mentioned that on September 11, 2002 he had three stents put in two arteries around his heart and concluded his testimony with these words; “This was the first time I ever faced the idea that I might not live to be an old man and watch my children grow up. Even though I did not want to leave Linda and the children I knew that if I died at that time I would go to heaven and meet Jesus!”

Bob was generous. He was a giver. But there was a time that he realized that only Jesus could pay his sin-debt and the penalty for his sin. When his heart beat it’s last in service to his family his spirit soared immediately into the presence of Jesus because, at a funeral, on Wednesday, January 19, 1983 in a little church in Winamac, Indiana, he received by faith the gift of eternal life.

Please. Please. While you still can. Receive the free gift of eternal life though Jesus Christ.

Ephesians 2:8-9 8 says; “For by grace you have been saved through faith. And this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God, not a result of works, so that no one may boast.”

Ken Pierpont

Granville Cottage

Riverview, Michigan

February 16, 2015

I Might Not Live to Be An Old Man

My brother-in-law Bob Dunbar was a generous man. When he suddenly died the first week of February hundreds and hundreds of people gathered to mourn his passing and celebrate his life. Everyone spoke of his serving, his listening, and his generosity. Bob was a giver.

He never let me pay for coffee or lunch. When we gathered to celebrate his life and mourn his death, I discovered that I was only one of many hundreds of people that experienced his generous nature. Last week I gathered a few of the nice gifts he had given me over the years. They were useful, tasteful carefully-chosen gifts. They were quality things purchased with me in mind. They were things that Bob knew I would like because he knew me well.

Bob had an endearing habit I have often mentioned. When the bill for coffee or food would come Bob would arrange to snatch it first. When I objected he would hold up the palm of his hand and with mock seriousness he would just say say, “Please. Please. Let me get this,” then he would pay. I would look him in the eyes and sincerely say, “Thank you Bob.” He would usually say, “You are very welcome,” and you could always tell he meant it.

At his memorial service I knew he would want me to make the gospel clear. I knew he would want me to clarity that salvation is my grace through faith—a gift of God—not of works.

Walking to the pulpit an idea occurred to me that would help everyone there understand the way to eternal life—a way they each could be re-united with Bob again one day. I told the people there about Bob’s habit of saying “Please, please, let me get this,” and I said, “Jesus paid the full price for your sin and He stands with nail-scarred hands extended to us and says, “Please. Please.” Will you humble yourself and believe and receive the gift of eternal life. Bob did. You can too.” The church was packed to the balcony and overflow and everyone grew silent as I used Bob’s life and testimony to make Christ known to his friends and family.

A day or two after the memorial Linda, Bob’s wife, found a small slip of paper folded up and tucked in his wallet. At the top of the paper were the words “Personal Testimony of Bob Dunbar” In the last paragraph Bob mentioned that on September 11, 2002 he had three stents put in two arteries around his heart and concluded his testimony with these words; “This was the first time I ever faced the idea that I might not live to be an old man and watch my children grow up. Even though I did not want to leave Linda and the children I knew that if I died at that time I would go to heaven and meet Jesus!”

Bob was generous. He was a giver. But there was a time that he realized that only Jesus could pay his sin-debt and the penalty for his sin. When his heart beat it’s last in service to his family his spirit soared immediately into the presence of Jesus because, at a funeral, on Wednesday, January 19, 1983 in a little church in Winamac, Indiana, he received by faith the gift of eternal life.

Please. Please. While you still can. Receive the free gift of eternal life though Jesus Christ.

Ephesians 2:8-9 8 says; “For by grace you have been saved through faith. And this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God, not a result of works, so that no one may boast.”

Ken Pierpont

Granville Cottage

Riverview, Michigan

February 16, 2015

Patches of Godlight

“We — or at least I — shall not be able to adore God on the highest occasions if we have learned no habit of doing so on the lowest. At best, our faith and reason will tell us that He is adorable, but we shall not have found Him so, not have ‘tasted and seen.’ Any patch of sunlight in a wood will show you something about the sun which you could never get from reading books on astronomy. These pure and spontaneous pleasures are ‘patches of Godlight’ in the woods of experience.”

– C.S. Lewis, Letters to Malcolm

Patches of Godlight

“We — or at least I — shall not be able to adore God on the highest occasions if we have learned no habit of doing so on the lowest. At best, our faith and reason will tell us that He is adorable, but we shall not have found Him so, not have ‘tasted and seen.’ Any patch of sunlight in a wood will show you something about the sun which you could never get from reading books on astronomy. These pure and spontaneous pleasures are ‘patches of Godlight’ in the woods of experience.”

– C.S. Lewis, Letters to Malcolm