When our little family crossed the western states decades ago to replant ourselves in Kansas, we were in great anticipation. Leaving behind friends and memories, we began our journey. We were anticipating that God was going to “set our table” before us, a table of blessing and promise.
The scenery had slowly changed from browns to various shades of green. Long fields of yellow wheat gave way to rolling pastures dotted with Black Angus and red Herefords. Fancy, our orange tabby, was all but voiceless by now. Not enjoying his close confinement in the cat carrier, Fancy had been incessantly verbalizing his complaints across the desert and the mountains. After the first few hours he had minimized his loud comments to specific incidents. If we were quiet, he would be quiet. If we talked, he would try to drown us out. We had committed ourselves to long periods of quiet thoughtful travel. Berry, “Strawberry Fields Forever,” our young Doberman, on the other hand, seemed to have caught the sense of adventure that was permeating the Swihart family, and was thoroughly enjoying herself.
We were caravanning across the country. Judd was driving the large U Haul with most of our earthly possessions. I followed in the family station wagon, loaded with the cat and his carrier, the dog, and our suitcases. The boys took turns riding as navigator in the truck with Dad. Sara, just turned six, rode wherever she wanted. When Derrick rode with me he would read aloud from James Herriot. We howled in laughter together at some of the strange predicaments Herriot painted of his escapades with the English country folk and their charming way of life. These stories were to be the backdrop for my perception of the flint hills of Kansas. Later, when I would look upon our hills, the ghosts of Herriot’s stories lingered in my mind.
The truck, station wagon, and their occupants seemed to move across the western countryside in a cocoon of God’s protection. From where did this sense of safety and destiny come? In the natural reality of things, we were apparently very foolish. It seemed to most that we were choosing anonymity and seclusion in that barren land of the Midwest. We were leaving the West Coast which, at the time, was the center of everything avant garde. The connections and friends we had made in California had been stimulating and fruitful. Judd had just published a popular book on languages of love, the first ever to be published on the subject. Now, we were going, by choice, to a little town in the Midwest that few of our friends knew existed. It was rural, it was small, it was isolated, and it was unknown.
Somehow we had failed to be discouraged by the doomsayers. Having asked God for His leading, we were filled with anticipation of the adventure of His choosing. And an adventure it was. We needed to rent a three bedroom home that would allow animals. It was a difficult assignment for our friend who was trying to locate a livable option for our family. It was on the same day that we arrived in town with our moving van that Sharon had found the perfect home, a former parsonage for a local church. When we arrived in Manhattan, we spent that first night in our friend’s home. The very next morning, with young men who would become the core of our soon to be developed ministry, we unloaded our belongings into the perfect transition home. Our table was set.
What was God doing? What plans did He have for us here in this Kansas town? As we began to settle in to life in transition, little did we know what was happening at the little farm on Kitten Creek Road which God was preparing. Loss and transition for the elderly farmer was causing him to close down his decades of farming. Grass and weeds were thriving, the house and buildings which had been lovingly cared for were growing more and more in disrepair, and old, worn-out farm equipment dotted the yards. A gift? Only we would be able to see with eyes of faith the beautiful setting that was to be ours. At the same time as Oscar was winding down his life at the farm, we were beginning our own venture of searching for the “right” place for a family-based ministry.
We have had many conversations over the years about the sense of God’s presence here at the farm. The farm was in anticipation, dressed with God’s blessing, laden with the accoutrements that would offer solace, refuge, encouragement: “food” for those who were to come. God had set the table for us and we came and dined. Through the years He has continued to set the table, sometimes changing the place setting, sometimes needing to wash the table cloth, and many times changing the guest list. We are always blessed as we see these settings, and even the changes, as true gifts from the Holy One to be unwrapped and enjoyed.