Ken Pierpont's Blog, page 142

Christmas Joy: How to Overcome Sadness

Date: December 9, 2012 AM

Title: Christmas Joy: How to Overcome Sadness

Speaker: Ken Pierpont

Scripture: Luke 2:10-11

Christmas Peace: How to Overcome Worry

Date: December 2, 2012 AM

Title: Christmas Peace – How to Displace Worry

Speaker: Ken Pierpont

Text: Luke 2:14

Place: Evangel Baptist Church, Taylor, MI 48193

Crisis Next Door (Christmas)

Chuk came back from the bank next door yesterday and reported that one of the tellers is not in the Christmas spirit this year. “That’s sad,” I said. “We can’t have that.”

I wondered what it was that robbed her of the childlike enthusiasm for this wonderful time of the year. Whatever it is it I’m sure that she has either never seen the glory of Christ or she has lost sight of it.

Maybe she is without the Christmas spirit because she never really understood what Christmas was about. Nostalgia can only carry you so far, especially since for most of us our sweetest memories are tempered by pain, disappointments, and misunderstandings. If the young lady at the bank has no spiritual life within her she would not have any reason to really joy in Christ or in the celebration of his birth. She would have no real heart-fellowship with Christ if he doesn’t live within her.

There are no decorations that can satisfy our hunger for the beauty of Christ. No Christmas lights, no matter how glorious can rival the light of his glory. Christmas carols were created for a higher purpose than to serve as a soundtrack for beer and toy commercials. If there is any cook or baker in you Christmas will bring out the best of it, but there is no Christmas confection or recipe that can ever feed the deepest hunger of the human soul.

What a sad thing to sit outside the circle of light Christmas throws on the world and feel no joy or warmth. It is the greatest of tragedies to be without Christ altogether at Christmas time.

“I wonder if she knows the Lord, Chuk?”

“I don’t know,” he said.

Lately Chuk has been making his own scented candles.

“You should go over with one of your candles and tell her what Christmas is all about, Chuk.”

This afternoon he walked over gave her one of his candles and gave her a nice little Bible with a marker in Luke two. He said, “I brought this because I felt bad the other day when you told me you weren’t in the Christmas spirit. If you start where I put the ribbon you will read the story of Jesus birth. If you keep reading you will read all about his life and why he came.”

She received the gifts with enthusiasm and said, “Thanks, I’m excited to read it.”

He came back with the happy report. It was a good mission well-executed, important and timely. It’s good he went when he did. There are only twelve days to Christmas and if her Christmas spirit hasn’t arrived yet, it is a critical matter. She has two little children and they need to know who Jesus is.

Ken Pierpont

Riverfront Character Inn

Flint, Michigan

December 13, 2005

Highland Park

Ted loved his new company car with leather upholstery a high-end music package and the special Bose speaker system, but he hated the idea of spending another day driving in it hours north into the West Michigan sales district. The Western Michigan rep was down with appendicitis. A key account had to have attention and they wouldn’t wait until the first of the year.



The external temperature readout was dropping with the miles as he drove north into Michigan and away from his home. He turned the radio on in time to hear the weather report. “Temperatures will dip into the upper twenties tonight and we can expect to see some white stuff around West Michigan. If you’re out on the roads tonight slow down or leave early to allow yourself time to arrive on time and safe.”

“Slow down,” thought Ted, “that would be nice, but it’s not an option. You can’t coast if you expect to be a partner in the business someday. In this business you can’t live on handouts. You have to go out and make things happen to prove you are worth their trouble.” Only producers get promoted, he thought. It was his oft-repeated mantra. What am I thinking, only producers survive. He accelerated into the dark highway ahead.

He ignored the loud protest of his stomach when he drove steadily on through his normal dinner hour. He needed to get to Jenison in time to prepare his presentation before sleep swept over him.

Ted hadn’t been back to Grand Rapids for years. The highway he was driving was only a few years old when he lived with his family in an old, humble, clean neighborhood just to the north. He was too preoccupied with his present challenge to take much time to remember or really even consciously pay attention to where he was.

On a hill on the east end of Grand Rapids on the north side of the highway stood a huge cathedral. A few blocks further was Harland Street. It was there he lived when he had his first Christmas thoughts. None of this even occurred to him as he jockeyed appointments with this cell phone and went over the details of tomorrow’s presentation while trying to keep the car on the road in slippery conditions. If he had looked up he would have recognized the Dutch Colonial home on the crest of the hill at the top of Harland Street, but he didn’t. He drove past without looking and without remembering.

While he talked, ignoring his childhood neighborhood, his cell phone beeped and he could see it was home office trying to get through. He pulled to a stop by the side of the road to concentrate on the call and assure that he would not drive out of range.

“Ted. Murphy at home office, where are you?”

“Grand Rapids. The lights of the city are just coming into view.”

“You made good time, Ted.”

“I was trying to beat a winter storm so I stood on it and skipped dinner.”

“Well that’s good because I have good news and bad news for you and the good news is that dinner is on the company tonight.”

“What’s the bad news, Murphy, I usually put my meal on account when I’m on the road.”

“Well, we’ve had a change of plans in with the Jenison account. Their CEO is going to move his Christmas flight up to keep from getting held up by the weather. He just called to cancel.

Ted poked his phone “off” and stared for a moment looking at the city lights. He was five hours from his snug home and family, hungry, tried and irritated that his opportunity melted away in a moment like the snowflakes hitting his windshield.

Off in a field north of the highway movement caught his eye. A trio of boys was unsung an appliance box for a toboggan. They also had plastic disk to slide down the hill. Only two at a time could ride. They were taking turns. Ted watched the boys for a while before he realized why it seemed like he had been here before. Suddenly recognition swept over him. This was the park of his boyhood. At least of a couple important winters of his boyhood.

He was surprised to feel a tug on his heart as he watched the boys in the park.

First he saw himself many years before in this very place… it came to him. The park was Highland Park. He remembered like it was yesterday climbing that very hill over and over again and running and doing a hard belly-flop on his Red Flyer sled. Sitting in the warmth of his car he could almost feel the sting of the snow in his face with the memory.

His sled was no molded plastic embarrassment that passes for a sled today, he thought. He pitied the boys with the box. Sad-he thought.

Ted remembered walking in the back door to see his Dad standing there with a big smile on his face.

“Son, I have a business proposition I would like to discuss with you. It’s behind the door.”

“What is it Dad?”

“Son, it’s your own business and I got it for the modest sum of just five dollars.”

“What is it?”

Well, don’t just stand there. Take a look.”

Ted remembered looking behind the door. Leaning in the corner was a now shovel with a wooden shaft and an orange plastic handle.

“Ted, if you hustle and do a good job you can make a lot of money moving snow in a town like Grand Rapids. If we get enough snow and you get out there and hustle you could earn enough to get a Red Flyer sled of your own from Thrifty Acres.”

Then Ted remembered the snow coming that year in great storms one coming on the tail of another. Every night he bundled up and padded out into the snow up and down the streets offering his snow removal service.

One day he came in from the cold. His face and hands were read and his feet felt frostbitten. After warming up next to a bowl of his mother’s chili his dad said, “Well, Ted. Let’s see what you have there.”

He put all the money he had earned on the table. It came to twenty-three dollars. A lot but not enough.

“I only have half. It will be spring before I have enough.”

“Well, Ted why don’t I pay you for the times you have helped me clean the garage. That will give you just enough to buy the sled.”

Ted smiled when he thought of the old Meijer Thrifty Acres and it’s wide sweeping curved roof. It was probably one of the original Meijer stores. It was where, in his sixth summer, his Dad bought him his first real leather ball glove. It was the day the last snow of winter melted and we were all pinning for spring.

Ted had given his dad the money and they went together to the store and bought the sled. Back home Ted’s dad turned it on it’s top and began to put paraffin on the runners. This is an old trick. Now watch how it goes. Teddy, if you get a running start at the top of the hill you can beat the Tigers to spring training in Florida.

Ted smiled again when he remembered his dad’s patient way and the knack he had of turning everything in to an event. He wondered if his boys would have memories that would make them smile in thirty years.

One thing was sure. They had both achieved expert status at video games but neither of them had ever felt the unmixed thrill of riding a Red Flyer down the big hill over in Highland Park.

Back on Vance Road in Ohio, Shelby was reading the boys a story when the phone rang.

“Shelby my meeting is cancelled. It looks like I will be home tomorrow. Do you have plans? ”

“Oh, I’ll cancel my plans if you are going to be here, Ted.”

“Good we can get our last-minute things out of the way together and take in some chicken noodles at Bob Evans.”

“That sounds great,” said Ted.

“What time will you leave?”

“Shelby I have a couple important stops before I get on the road and I am five hours out. I’m going to grab a red eye at Starbucks and try to beat the storm home. I’d like to fix you and the boys my famous Ranch Hand breakfast in the morning.”

Keep my place warm ?til I get home. If all goes well I’ll be crawling in beside you by 1:45 or 2:00. Turn the quilt back for me.

“Ted be careful. If the meeting is off why do you need to stop?”

“Shelby, you know it’s just two days to Christmas. If you ask too many questions you will force me to lie.”

“I love you, Ted. If you get tired stop. You’ll be home soon enough. We’ll all be together then.”

“I love you too. Tell the boys I’ll be making them breakfast in the morning. I should be starting home in about an hour.”

Ted drove slowly through his old neighborhood. Eastern Elementary looked as it had decades before. He drove past the little corner market. At the time it was owned by man named Ted who you could visit with every day over the counter. It made his mouth water to think of the sour cherry candies that used to sit on top of the meat case. And there was the house still painted white a little diamond-shaped window facing the driveway. It was smaller than he remembered.

He drove slow and remembered how his mother had gone to such trouble to make Christmas special for him even though they had little money. He stopped in front of the house. He didn’t want to make the current occupants nervous so finally he pulled away and drove out of the neighborhood.

Before leaving the neighborhood he had one more important stop. He needed to visit the park of his boyhood. He drove to the park and got out and crunched across the snow to the bottom of the hill. For a long time he stood there looking up into the clear dark toward the top of the hill.

He looked down at the boot prints of the little boys in the snow and thought of his own sons sleeping in their beds hours away. He felt a pang at the thought that he almost never took time to pray with them and talk with them at night when they went to sleep. He was usually returning calls or planning his day. He did take days off. They were too costly. He just couldn’t afford them. But there in the park that night just two nights before Christmas he thought it might be a good idea to reconsider that practice.

When the time and money were right it seemed that he had trouble thinking of good things to do with the boys. They were growing up fast. Suddenly and thought sprang into his mind and he turned from the hill and ran laughing through the snow across the open field to his car.

He got back on 96 and exited on 28th Street and made his way to the Meijer store. It was still there, you could tell by the shape of the roof, even though there had been modifications over the last three decades. He found what he was looking for and more. In the toy department were all kinds of sleds, most of them were molded plastic, but there was one retro Red Flyer that was just like the one he had had so long ago. He bought it. On the way out he saw a Starbucks shop in the front of the store. He got what he needed, jogged to the car, put his new sled in the trunk and headed south.

It was eight o’clock. The traffic was light and the roads were still clear, but the radio kept up its continual threatening of a winter storm.

By the time he was within sixty miles of home the snow was starting to come down hard and thick. What would normally have taken less than an hour took two but he finally did turn the corner and his house came into view. He could see there was a dim light shining in his room upstairs. The only other light was the tree in the family room. The light on his nigh table was on and the quilt was turned back. He thanked God for safe travel and for his family. Before his eyes grew heavy with sleep he prayed. He was thankful for the trip to Grand Rapids even if it was just to stand at the foot of the hill for a few minutes.

He was tired but he was still the first one up in the morning. The Christmas music was on as was the coffee and he was working away on a nice brunch by the time the rest of the family shuffled in. They enjoyed sitting on the stools at the counter and talking with their dad. Later they spent part of the day with friends while Ted took Shelby for the last minute gifts and food for Christmas. While they were out he told her of his new plan over chicken and noodles at Bob Evans.

She liked the sound of it. He said, “I’m not going to keep the pace I have been keeping any more. There is no time with the boys and they are getting big. I am just going to be satisfied with keeping the bills paid and I am going to spend at least one day a week with the boys from now on.

“O, Ted, that’s wonderful. I have always dreamed of you begin able to be with the boys more. They love you so and cherish the time they have with you. When do you think you will start?”

“Funny you should ask. I am going to start the day after Christmas.”

And he did. The day after Christmas they all bundled up and put the sled in the trunk and headed for Highland Park. It was a long trip but worth it. By nightfall the boys all jumped into the bed with Ted at the hotel and they were asleep within minutes. The boys always remembered it as the first of many spontaneous Father/Son outings. Ted always called them Adventures. Over the years they included trips to North Manitou Island, the Pictured Rocks, half-marathons in Ludington, nights on the Muskegon State Park beach, hiking in the Porcupine mountains and an annual trip to Grand Rapids just the remember the night he chose to let his job serve his family instead of forcing his family to serve his job.

Highland Park (Thirty Years Later)

Almost thirty years to the night later two young men meet in the same park. One of them drives a car with Illinois tags. The other one has an Ohio tag. They stride toward each other and their hand-shake turns into a hug. Their boys frolic while they enjoy some hot coffee. While the boys sled the young men stood and talked sipping coffee.

“How many years have we been meeting here, Todd?”

“I don’t know. Let’s see,” Ted answered. “We went here for five years with Dad before we talked him into taking us to Cannonsburg, to ski.”

“I guess we’ve been coming back here with the boys now for five years. When do you think they will insist on a ski resort?”

“I don’t know but a sled is better than a snow board.”

Todd said, “What I want to know is how did you end up with the old sled? I’m the firstborn son.”

“I guess I was just at the right place at the right time I guess. They don’t make ?em like this anymore do they… No they don’t. Whatever made Dad buy that thing anyway?”

“I don’t know, but I’m glad he did,” he said looking out into the star-jeweled night. I’m really glad he did. Since he’s been gone I think a lot about those trips with Dad and I always hope I can be the same kind of Dad he was.”

But for the far away sound of the boys laughing and the swoosh of their sled there was no sound. On the hill the cathedral chimes broke the silence and wafted carols on the night.

Ken Pierpont

Riverfront Character Inn

Flint, Michigan

December 2004 (Posted December 2005)

Live Nativity

Christmastime is a challenge for Pastors. I always try to think of new ways to package the old Christmas traditions and the eternal gospel so the truth of it will ring clear and fresh in the hearts of people all year long.

Years ago I sold the young people of the church on doing a live nativity scene. We wanted the community to enjoy it. We planned the live nativity for the night of our annual Christmas Candlelight Service so worshippers could see it as they came to the service. When the night came our village church shone with light from within through stained glass windows. Hundreds of luminaries lined the walks and outlined the parking lot.

Christmas carols the most beautiful hymns of Christendom rang from within the little chapel. The kitchen and fellowship hall hummed with life. Ladies of the church like the devoted Magi themselves came bearing their favorite Christmas cookies. The coffee was on to brew the fragrance spilled over into the chapel. I joyfully presided over this orderly kingdom. Prelude music began to play- house lights would soon dim leaving candlelight playing on the glass and polished wood of the pews. Everything was perfectly in place.

Suddenly one of the children burst through the door red-faced with excitement. “Pastor, come quick- one of the sheep got away.”

I should have delegated the task but I followed everyone out into the night. The frightened animal first sought refuge in an open garage near the church. One of our men- had the sheep cornered for a moment but then he tripped over a lawn mower and the sheep got away.

Frantic, the animal then shot across the road into the cemetery behind the Methodist Church. Mary left her doll and gave chase. Her twelve-year-old husband Joseph followed losing his beard and the bath towel that had been wrapped over his head. Wise men dived at the runaway sheep without a hint of dignity-card board crowns rolling in the snow.

The shepherds were quickly exposed as the imposters they were. Worshippers arriving were treated to an amusing display. Traffic clogged in front of the church. Finally, mercifully, one of the men valiantly dove and tackled the sheep toward the back of the cemetery. He wrestled it into the back of Mike Hammond’s pickup truck.

The service began on time though there was a buzz of excited amusement. Our intent was to stimulate reverent thoughts. We succeeded in amusing everyone but came well short of inspiring anyone. The service itself was lovely and orderly with no live animals and no surprises. At the end the room went dark and one by one the people lit one another’s candles. Families stood together and sang. Children’s faces were bathed in candlelight. After singing I stepped from the platform as I did every year and began to dismiss the congregation a row at a time, warmly wishing each of them a Merry Christmas and meaning it deeply. The candlelight glowed on each face and flickered in their eyes as each of them returned the loving greeting.

Finally the auditorium emptied and with my candle still burning I stepped out into the night. I stood and watched until the last car drove away and I was left with my candle on the front steps of the church in the quiet. I hated to put out my candle. The moon and stars sparkled on the snow. A few hours before it was a noisy scene of chaos, now it was silent, peace restored.

At Christmas time our best plans often erode into chaos and confusion. When that happens to me I try to quiet my heart and center my affections on Christ. He is the Prince of Peace and he has a powerful way of restoring order and tranquility where he is welcomed. May the Prince of Peace rule in your heart and in your home this Christmas.

A Warm Story for A Cold City – A Christmas Story

I was done for the year and I aimed my old Jeep toward home. I loved this stretch of road. I always felt fortunate to live in the country where the hills were flocked with snow in the winter. Soon I had put town behind me and drove east out of Millwood to where the long narrow bridge crossed high over the Kokosing River. I felt warm gratitude in my heart for the goodness of God when I thought about what would be waiting for me at home. A few minutes later I could see our white frame house snug in the valley, smoke rising from the chimney. Warmth, home, music, rest, good food and people who loved me were waiting. I sounded the horn as I passed the clearing.

We were having all the family in for Christmas and we were determined to do things right. Money was scarce but we managed.

One evening a couple weeks before Christmas the children were all chattering about what they were going to buy each other. I was a little frustrated because none of them had an income and I didn’t know if I could afford to pay for all the things they wanted to give each other.

Lois was sitting at her sewing machine. She had been making some homemade ornaments. I asked her if she could make them in large quantities fast. She said she could crank them out quickly if there was a market for them. “I think we are going to go and create a market for them,” I said.

That night when I got home from the study, we put them in baskets and drove in town. The children began to sell them door to door and before they were done they had sold enough to buy presents for each other and for each of us and with the money they gave Lois for making the ornaments, we were able to buy presents for them.

In preparation for Christmas I decided that we needed to have a star. The right place was in the south gable of the barn where people could see it from State Route 36 a half mile away. The barn was very high and I didn’t know if we could pull it off safely.

I had to climb in pitch-blackness up into the peak on old wooden slats nailed to the inside wall of the barn. We strung lights around some nails on a board to form a star. I climbed up to put a rope through the pulley in the window in the gable. After I came down the roped pulled off the pulley. I would have to climb up again. I started to give up and then decided that I would try again. By the time the girls got in from shopping you could see our star from a mile away high in the dark winter sky. And I knew we had created a memory that would never fade.

A few nights later we decided that we needed a little Christmas tree on the front porch. We went for a hike. It was dark and cold and the moon was our only light. I remembered some coniferous trees growing on a steep ridge high over the old abandoned roadbed and we started back with an old dull saw. It was quite an adventure but before we said our evening prayers we had our tree decorated on the enclosed front porch, complete with tiny white lights.

On Christmas morning we would tie a beautiful red bow around the neck of Ginger our affable Golden Retriever. She would be the first to greet our guests and we wanted her to look festive.

We stocked lots of food, baked and planned our favorite holiday dishes.

Every year we visited a tree grower on Pigeon Roost Road near Jellowy. She had come to expect our family to visit. We made an adventure of it. She knew we always wanted a large blue spruce and she would have a perfect tree waiting for us. She tied us a fresh wreath of pine boughs and beautiful ribbon. We would tie the tree on the top of our little wagon and labor home and wrestle it into its stand and decorate it together while we listened to our favorite Christmas tapes. The Spruce stood beautifully over in the corner atop a mountain of gifts waiting with the rest of us for our guests to arrive.

They were people who were dearer to us then any on earth. Our people. People who knew us as we were and loved us. People who we knew and loved.

Christmas Eve day snow was in the forecast. We were never more ready for a festive Christmas. At first the children celebrated the prospect of snow but I wondered if it would make travel difficult.

On Christmas Eve we received a call from an Amish family who needed help. It was too cold to dry clothes outside and Emma needed a ride to the Laundromat. The children were wrapping gifts and Lois was busy in the kitchen. She urged me to go and help. As I left to drive them to Coshocton, the snow began to come. Softly and white at first just like it does at the end of any good Christmas movie.

I pulled off for a cup of strong, hot coffee to nurse on the way to town. It made the cabin of the car seem a little cozier. On the way through town I checked my watch and noticed that it was nearly seven in the evening. Worshippers were shuffling their way through the snow to the Baptist Church for a candle light service as I drove by.

I dropped Emma off and went back to the service. I couldn’t remember in my adult life one time when I attended a Christmas Service I was not in charge of. I slipped in the back row and watched happily from the shadows.

The young pastor was at his best. The children were in their finest. Mothers were in their glory. The church was radiant with soft seasonal light. I sang softly to hear the other voices and watched the families all together.

As soon as the service ended I slipped back out into the snowy night and drove away unnoticed. My heart was full of thanks and wonder for the ancient faith that I shared with millions of stranger friends all over the world.

Back home we tucked the children in and bed read them C. Clement Moore’s classic poem before we prayed. I went downstairs and stirred the fire. Peppermint tea and more carols, finally Lois curled up beside me and we sat together looking into the fire saying nothing. Later we lay together in our big poster bed and listened to the wind in the pines out front of the house. Before we fell asleep, we prayed. Then I lay still until I could hear Lois’ breathing change.

I pondered the wonder of the incarnation and God’s good hand in my life. Healthy children, a simple warm home, good food to eat, family coming to celebrate, and lying under a hand sewn blanket on a Christmas Eve next to a beautiful woman whom I loved. My last conscious thought was that of intense well-being and gratitude to God for his kindness and mercy to me.

The children woke us by stomping on the floor above. (They were strictly charged to stay upstairs in the morning until they were called down). They had awakened at dawn and occupied themselves by watching the beautiful birds flock the feeder outside my study window. The birds came in big numbers when snow covered the ground. The children watched deer come to water just after dawn. Finally they began to make noise to awaken us.

We shared our gifts and ate breakfast together. Lois always made a special baked omelet for our Christmas breakfast and we ate it with a special tea ring Dorothy Hall made for us every year. I walked Ginger back to the river and stood praying for an hour that seemed like a few minutes. The dark water ran through icy trees and along snowy banks. I made my way up to the top of the ridge to watch the beautiful, white world on Christmas morning. Where I stood I could see the house and all that was most dear to me in the world within. I hiked down to join them, stomped off snow, hung up my walking staff and set down in my big overstuffed chair. Lois, reading my mind, brought me a cup of coffee. I settled in to wait for our guests and watch the children play with their new Christmas treasures.

Christmas morning the phone rang and our Christmas guests informed us that they would have to delay their departure. They would never leave. A few hours later they called and said they would not be coming. Lois was very disappointed and the children were heart-broken. We had so set our hearts on guests for Christmas.

All the preparation, food, decoration, and anticipation were for nothing. No one would enjoy it. We began to adjust. Lois had no intention of doing so. A dark cloud rolled in over our home. Things were not happy in the house that night. Early in the evening I decided to get some fresh air and look at the sky. It was clear and cold and quiet when I stepped outside. My breath lingered in cold mist around my head as I walked. Snow crunched under my boots. There was no other sound. Ginger came from her straw bed to walk with me. Silent company. I carried a lantern but left it unlit.

The stars stood bright in the Christmas night sky and I drank in their beauty and wonder and questions. There was only one neighbor in sight and he lived in a mobile home up on top of the hill north of our place. I looked up to see if his light was on. It glowed from the window. I remembered last Christmas.

We were enjoying a wonderful Christmastime together. Lois’ mother and sister and their family were with us. We had just finished opening our gifts and we had cleared away the supper dishes. The phone rang and I wondered who would call on Christmas night. It was Andy, our neighbor who lived in the little trailer on the hill. He and his wife were having trouble and he had been drinking. She had left with the children and he wanted to know if they had come down to us to use the phone. It was a sad time just to see the hurt, embarrassment and fear on the faces of the children and the frustration in the eyes of his wife. That year she left and the children would visit Andy on the weekends. He struggled to keep work and seemed lonely and unhappy most of the time. My frequent attempts to share Christ seemed to have no effect. I wondered if he was home and if the children were with him. I trudged up the hill with an idea in my heart. He made his way to the door and the room was dark behind him. No tree.

“Are you alone, Andy?” I asked “Yea, the kids were here last night,” He mumbled “Have you had Christmas dinner yet?” “No” He said. “Our guests were snowed in. Could you join us?” “No, I don’t want to intrude.” “Andy,” I said; “If you don’t come we’ll be alone down there with all that food.”

Andy ate with us and then he walked back up the hill alone. That night in bed I felt badly for Lois, but I couldn’t help but think that God had other plans for Christmas Day than we did. I prayed for Andy but my heart was sad. I’ve seen the damage alcohol can do to a man’s soul and Andy was far from God and his heart was hard.

Early that year Andy moved away and we never stayed in touch. Like so many people we have tried to help, I have no idea where he is today or if he ever came to really know who Jesus is.

Mitch Franklin reported for News Six, Chicago for thirteen years and he was getting a little cynical. He didn’t like what he had become. Christmas was a couple weeks away and for the first time in his life he just didn’t have much heart for it. A crisis of faith or a mid-life crisis, he wasn’t sure but he didn’t like it and he couldn’t shake it.

Mitch was heading out the door when Bill called to him. “Hey Mitch, do you mind checking out a lead on the way home?” Sure Bill, what is it?’ We’ll it’s a possible human-interest story we could run on Christmas Eve. “What’s the angle, Bill?” “You know the homeless people on State Street? Well, with the cold this year there aren’t enough gloves and hats and warm coats to go around.” Yea; Nancy told me about that, Mitch said; half remembering an article his wife read to him over breakfast one morning.

“We’ll lately someone has been leaving winter coats on the benches in Grant Park. The homeless people pick them up and they always have an envelope in the pocket. In the envelope is a note with a twenty dollar gift certificate to Al’s Home cooked Meals on Ohio Ave. The note reads: “Have a good hot meal on me and never forget, no matter how alone you feel that Jesus loves you.” Mitch, if you can find out who’s been doing this and get an interview it would make a great human-interest piece. Look into it and let me know. Maybe you could take Nancy out for dinner tonight at Al’s Home cooked Meals and nose around a little. Put it on your expense account.”

Al accommodated Mitch immediately with an address from a check he had not yet banked from his best gift certificate customer. It was a tall man, middle aged who came in every Friday and bought five twenty-dollar gift certificates. On the way home from dinner, Mitch felt a rare softening in this soul and an intense desire to track down this mysterious benefactor.

The next day he rode the El to Wells Street and walked to the address written on the slip of paper Al had given him. The apartment was down a small flight of stone steps. The door was wreathed and outlined in lights. The window was filled with a lighted tree. A tall middle-aged man answered the door and within an hour he had coaxed him to allow a filmed interview in the apartment the next day.

Bill would be pleased. Mitch had his story and more. The cold city was alive to him that night. He noticed things he hadn’t seen in years. He was alive to both the beauty of the great city and it’s pain. He was eager to get home to Nancy.

On Christmas Eve, Mitch held Nancy’s hand as they settled in after dinner to watch the interview. This would be sweet. Mitch had covered train wrecks and mob hits, murders and muggings and City counsel meetings. But this is one he would always remember.

His own image flashed on the screen and Nancy squeezed his had. “A strange mystery has been solved this evening in one of the poorest and coldest parts of Chicago. Since Thanksgiving someone has been visiting Grant Park and leaving their coat. It’s happened every Monday through Friday. There is always a note tucked in a mysterious, hand-lettered envelope in the pocket of the coat that reads “Have a good hot meal on me and never forget, no matter how alone you feel, Jesus loves you.” We’ve done some footwork and we want you to meet the man behind the note. He has insisted that we withhold his name but he has agreed to tell his story for News Six tonight.” The camera angle widened to include a tall middle-aged man with bright eyes and an engaging smile.

“Well, Mitch, it all started on a cold winter night the year after my divorce;” the man said. “It was Christmas and I was alone. Alcohol had taken over my life and I had driven off everyone I loved and everyone who loved me. I had no interest in religion or religious people. I had come to the end of things and I was sitting with the barrel of my revolver in my mouth when I was startled by a knock at the door.

It was my neighbor inviting me for Christmas dinner. His guests were snowbound and he invited me to take their place. I will never forget that night. I was hard-hearted and confused, and it took a couple years before my life turned around, but the memory of that kind, Christian family has never faded from my mind and heart. The little coat trick is just my way of doing for others what others did for me on a Christmas night years ago.”

Snow swirled around Mitch as he signed off his story; “That’s a heart warming story for a cold city tonight. I’m Mitch Franklin wishing all of Chicago land a very Merry Christmas.”

Childlike Christmas Enthusiasm

This photo is our our Grandbuddies and their mother Elizabeth. This is a classic re-post from 2003

About fifteen years ago when the Christmas season was approaching weather reports predicted a heavy snow on Thanksgiving eve. At the time I was the pastor of a village church in Ohio. On Thanksgiving Eve we joined with the other village church for a Thanksgiving service. Lois was in Newark shopping for the day. I was concerned that she would not arrive in time for the service. As night fell snow began to fall, too. Thick, wet snow. Festive as it was dangerous.

This was before cell phones. I had trouble concentrating on my preparations for the service wondering about her, but finally I heard her sound the horn in the drive and I knew that she had arrived home safe. I went down to greet her.

“Ken,” she said, “Look what I found.”

She was wearing a long winter coat, a hat and scarf, but what you could see of her face was glowing with excitement. Her cheeks were red in the cold wind. There was a child-like light in her eyes.

“Come and look, come and look,” she said, on her tip toes.

We went around behind the van and opened the doors. The entire back end of the van was filled with an enormous wreath. It was huge and fragrant.

“It was half-price,” she chirped.

I imagined it was still plenty and I didn’t want to mess with it until after the service. I am ashamed to admit that I squandered an opportunity to enter enthusiastically into my wife’s plans. She was undaunted, insisting that I get it in the house for her so she could wrap it in lights.

“Oh, hurry,” she bubbled. “You have to get this inside before the service. The family is coming tomorrow for Thanksgiving and I want have that wreath on the house when they arrive.”

“Where are you going to hang it, it’s half the size of the garage doors?”

“I can’t hang it. You have to help me. It has to go between the windows over the garage doors.”

I refused to help until after the service and then it was too wet and to windy and too cold. It would never have been used if the next morning Lois had not insisted that I do nothing else until I hung that wreath. I told her it was impossible. I told her that if I extended the ladder to it’s full height and stood on the very top rung I would only then just be able to reach the gable of the house over the driveway. She said she knew I could do it. She offered to hold the ladder. I found that only mildly comforting.

With trembling hands I stood on the top rung of the ladder and screwed an eye-hook into the soffit high over the drive. I strung some wire thought the eye. I descended the ladder and with the children watching and cheering ascended with the huge wreath. Finally success. The wreath was in place. I put the ladder away and calmed my wildly beating heart. It was a sight! I got it in place just minutes before the family started arriving for Thanksgiving. I enjoyed hero status for a moment that day.

Valuable Memory

I have in my memory a photo of that wreath twinkling with lights, high on the house. At night you could see it across the countryside for miles. If you offered me a hundred dollars to take that memory from my mind I would turn you down without hesitation. The older children still remember that wreath on the house almost as big as a car.

One way to stay young at heart is to act like a child at Christmas, to enter wholeheartedly into the preparations for the season. Think of it. Just for a moment our busy, burdened, self-absorbed culture pauses at the cradle in wonder. I don’t want to miss the opportunity to celebrate in a big way. I would hate to think when I came to the end of my life that I allowed my heart to get so cold that I lost my childish Christmas joy and used maturity for an excuse.

Peter Marshall once preached, “Let’s not succumb to the sophistication that complains; “Christmas belongs only to the children.” That shows that you have never understood Christmas at all, for the older you get, the more it means, if you know what it means. Christmas, though forever young, grows old along with us. Have you been saying, “I just can’t seem to feel the Christmas spirit this year? That’s too bad. As a confession of lack of faith, it is rather significant. You are really saying that you feel no joy that Jesus came into the world… you are confessing that His presence in the world is not a reality to you. Maybe you need all the more to read the Christmas story over again, need to sit down with the Gospel of Luke and think about it.”

This afternoon I am going to light a candle and brew some tea and scoop little Hope America into my lap and see if I can get her to sit still there for a few minutes while I read her the story of Jesus birth from Luke chapter two. Maybe she will ask me some questions or maybe she will just fall asleep in my lap. It doesn’t matter.

Kenneth L. Pierpont

Riverfront Character Inn

Flint, Michigan

December 8, 2003

Perfect Timing (Christmas)

It’s a cold December evening in the western suburbs of Chicago. The Year of our Lord 2006. We’re gathered in the family room enjoying the warmth, light, and fragrance of the fire. Our Christmas tree glows in the corner. I’ve read some Christmas stories to the family. Now we’re listening to carols on Moody Radio. Hannah is puttering with some cookbooks and reading cookie recipes aloud. I like what I hear. Within an hour she’s got a couple sheets of cookies cooling on the counter.

Outside there is a noise. We are working for a ministry that employs a number of single young people. In the evenings they are responsible for their own meals. They are at an age when they are rarely unwilling to eat if they are offered food.

When I hear the noise outside I know what’s coming… I get up and turn off the radio. From outside our door we can hear carols. I walk over to the counter without a word and pick up a large tray of fresh cookies. They are still warm from the oven. I swing open the door. Carols pour into the room.

When the cluster of young people finish their singing I walk out with the cookies. They eagerly clear the tray. They smile and chatter. Their faces are red from the cold.

“Thank you. How did you know we were coming?”

“We didn’t. We just happened to have some fresh cookies ready. Your timing was perfect,” I said.

We bid them good night and Merry Christmas and they retured the greeting and shuffled off into the night.

This time of year it’s always perfect timing for songs about Jesus. It’s always perfect timing for kindness and cookies. Come to think of it, the time is always right for songs of loyalty and love for Jesus and deeds of love and kindness. Jesus people should always be ready for both…especially at Christmastime.

Ken Pierpont

Granville Cottage

Riverview, Michigan

December 10, 2012

Where Meek Souls Will Receive Him

Here’s a Christmas re-post I thought you would enjoy:

December 16, 1995 was a Saturday. My message needed work. Our church occupied a little Grange Hall West of Mt. Vernon, Ohio just off State Route 229. North of the church was a bit of woods wrapped around a pond. My study window looked out from high on the wall of the church over the pleasant field and the wood and the pond. I would sometimes watch deer come to water there.

When I arrived at the church that morning it was cold. The hall was shaded by Maples in the summer and the study was cool. In the wintertime is was freezing. I started the space heater – the only source of warmth besides my imagination – and rubbed my hands together before it as if it were a roiling blaze on a stone hearth in a rustic lodge. In fact it was the corner of a Grange Hall converted into a place of worship with a tiny study where I could read, study, pray and prepare meals to feed my flock.

My books were there on sturdy bookshelves built by a friend from discarded concrete forms. They are still in service today. I see them and use them every day and when I do I think of my dear friend Gary Mickle who built them and continually discovered ways to help me. (Ask me about the killer water-heater, root beer in the baptistery, the broken picture window, the spinning bumper, real peppermint patties, and two hundred luminaries and a truck load of sand some day).

The hall and my study were humble, but they were answers to prayer and I was grateful for them. God had even let me see them in a dream before he provided them for us. I liked the peaceful silence. I liked the hardwood floors. I loved the window of a dozen small, frosty panes, aimed toward the wintry scene to the north.

I sat looking out that window gathering thoughts – forming a plea to God for help to feed the people. I wanted some quiet carols to inspire warm Christmas thoughts in me. I reached to the shelf above my desk and tuned my radio to the classical music station in Columbus, Ohio. Seasonal sounds filled my study – beautiful carols that tugged on my soul. Now it was getting warm in my little study. The music came to an end and the announcers offered a copy of a new CD by the group Chantacleer. The recording would go to the third caller. I dialed the number and won the recording.

They apologized that I would not be able to enjoy the recording before Christmas. I gave them my address and an enthusiastic Christmas blessing and turned my thoughts back to my sermon preparation.

To my delight, the recording arrived in Tuesday’s mail – in plenty of time to enjoy it for almost a week before Christmas. They had made special arrangements to expedite the shipping. Since then I have purchased two other Chanticleer Christmas recordings.

When Christmas Eve came that year it was on a Sunday. That night we had a Candelight service in our little hall. It was filled with dancing light, beautiful music, worshipful voices, excited children, and people who loved one another and loved the Lord Jesus.

From the highway that night our little hall and the ring of cars around it must have seemed like an anachronism. Travelers would have no way of knowing what was inside. People were saved in that hall. Three of our ladies would be with the Lord within a year or two. One of them, a single mom, left two teenage boys. One of our finest young men would not live to marry or raise a family but die in the prime of his youth – it’s been years since Travis died, and it is still a bitter shock to think of it. Two of the little boys are pastors now. It was humble, but Christ came there. He came sweetly and simply–but he came.

Where meek souls will receive him still the dear Christ enters in.

An interesting post script: A few months later John Worth, my brothers father-in-law asked; “Do you like your Chantacleer CD?”

“Yes, I do,” I said. “How did you know about that?”

John smiled and said, “I was battling a winter snowstorm on my way from Michigan to my son’s house last Christmas and I was listening to the radio. I heard you call in and win the CD.”

Warm Christmas thoughts to all of you.

Ken Pierpont

Granville Cottage

Riverview, Michigan

December 19, 2008

Reserved Seats

I wrote this piece at Christmastime in 2008 but I have not posted it to the site yet. Thought you might enjoy reading it. It’s about honoring your parents at Christmastime.

The wind starts somewhere in the coldest part of Canada, gathers force over vast Lake Superior, blows across the Upper Peninsula, sweeps down the length of Lake Michigan creating snow and spreads it across the lower third of the state.

On the leading edge of that snow band is a city with a musical name—Kalamazoo. It is there that my little brother serves as the Minister of Music and Fine Arts at Northeastern Baptist Church. His name is Nathan. Nathan is the baby of the family. I’m not allowed to say he is the favorite, but Mom and Dad really do love him special and for good reason. He deeply cherishes them, too. Mom and Dad would give anything to Nathan. He would give anything for them. It is as beautiful a relationship as I have ever seen between parents and a son. Mom and dad are extremely grateful to God and proud of him and of his beautiful family.

Full-House

Sunday night was Nathan’s big Christmas deal, full choir—everyone in their finest. Mom and Dad were planning to attend if the weather allowed them to. Sunday afternoon they checked the weather and started out. Snow began to fall. They don’t drive fast. With the snow falling they slowed down even more, but made their way determinately on.

Nathan has my father’s tender heart and love of truth. He has my mother’s devotion to Christ and love of music. Add to that thousands of dollars worth of piano lessons, many thousands more for a music degree and many, many hours of piano practice, patient parenting, exemplary older siblings, the grace of God, and you have one powerful, musical, pastor. He is a gift to the church and a delight to my parents.

They arrived safely at the church just in time for the service. The church is a thriving church and it was full for the evening. They wondered if there would be a place to sit, but they didn’t need to worry. As they made their way into the church they were greeted warmly by the people and shown to the best seats in the church reserved just for them, so they wouldn’t miss a thing.

When I think about my Mother and Dad basking in the warmth of their son’s music—the very product of their own love and gifts and convictions—and when I think of them listening to their grandchildren singing in the choir from their special reserved seats, my heart is flooded with joy even though I wasn’t there to see it.

After the program many of the church people told them how much they loved Nathan and his family. They drove back through the night home. When they visit Evangel I am going to see to it they get good seats—after all they have done for me, it’s the least I can do.

Ken Pierpont

Granville Cottage

Riverview, Michigan

December 8, 2008