Category: Memories from others

Posted on

“Come”

 

” Come.”

You are calling out to me, Jesus,

“Come.” How often I have heard it in the recesses of my mind.

“Come.”

But it doesn’t ring out above the other voices, those loud and demanding voices.  Yours is soft and gentle, and I have to stop and listen carefully to hear it:

“Come.”

Instead, I listen to the call that demands productivity: “Get it done, now.”

Rather than lying in bed and listening to that still, small voice first thing in the morning, I sleep in until Judd awakes, and then dash to get dressed, make the bed, and get the coffee pot going.

And you say “Come.”

 

Waiting for the coffee, I look out the kitchen window and see the chickens pacing in the coop waiting to be released, the donkey and goat standing at the gate expectantly watching the kitchen window for a glimpse of movement. And they say, “Come.”

I must do chores . . . now.

I also know that on the other side of the door to the garage there is a cat, sitting on his haunches, staring at the door and listening carefully to my footsteps inside the house. As I open the door to the garage, Tom jumps up and walks me to his dish. I give him a pat on the head, feed him, and go out to the pen.

And, instead of worshiping while I minister to these, my pets, my dear charges,  I am hurrying. Why? The next thing is waiting to be done. “Be productive” is the voice I hear.

And you, standing in the shadows, softly say, “Come.”

But now, Jesus, other voices drown out your sweet voice.

Because we are anxious to hear what is happening in the world., we eat our breakfast in front of the television.

I know you are in ultimate control of the world’s situation and I want to see what you are doing. That is my rationale for going back again and again to those voices.

But the news is delivered in anxiety-producing verbiage. A devastating, catastrophic storm is approaching the western coast of Florida. Russia is threatening nuclear war.  North Korea is sending up intercontinental ballistic missiles. The entire world is suffering and in turmoil: floods, fires, starvation, and civil unrest.

And godlessness. I hear the values You have tried to teach us being trampled by an ungodly culture.

While I listen to those voices, your voice is crowded out and I am a bit like Peter. You say to come, but I am watching the waves of this unsettled world. So I lose the comfort of your voice and your calming presence and the waves begin to flood over my soul.

And more voices are calling. Those voices hit my ears, invade my space, control my thoughts, compel me to listen.

I remember a dream I had years ago:

………………………………………………………………………………………………

There are two ways to reach the rocky road that leads to the pasture. One is through the barnyard which usually means going through several gates; the other is around the top of the barn, past the double sliding doors, along the roof of the old stable, through a wooded area, and upward to the open pasture.

At that time I had been busy and was stuck in the mundane existence of daily life. My world had become smaller, duller, and ordinary. No great inspiration compelled me to do my daily prayer walk or even expect my regular quiet time to inspire me. I was experiencing a gray world, one of those times when life was just Boring.

Then I took a walk.

I had decided to take the trail past the top of the barn.

The same old, gray world met my senses. I walked past the top of the barn, past the doors, and through the gate.

However, as I began the steep climb to the pasture, my gaze fell upon something I had never seen here before: A lush, ivy-covered hillside had replaced the rocky soil of the forest. Hidden in a crevice was a low, stone grotto. The air I breathed was soft and perfumed.

At the side of the trail, a white-robed figure emerged and quietly walked toward me, stretching out his hands. Though I had never seen him before, I instantly recognized him. He was loving, though somehow fierce; inviting, yet not safe; gentle, yet strong.

I stopped, amazed at what I saw. My eyes filled with tears, my heart with shame. His soft voice cut into my soul: “Yes, Nancy, I have been waiting here for you to come for a long time.”

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

The shock woke me from my dream. I lay in the darkened bedroom in a mixture of awe and worship. “I wait,” he said, “sometimes in surprising places to remind you that I am always here. Always. . . if you open your eyes to see.”

To this day, as I walk past the bend in the path and look at the wooded hillside,I sometimes look for that grotto and that stranger. I remind myself that, even though I can’t see Him with my eyes, He is there. He is here. He is waiting and He calls “Come.”

Os Guinness uses the phrase a world without windows to describe today’s culture that has denied the supernatural. Only what we can see, taste, and feel with our senses is real. And when that world is harsh, gray, or painful, it is all we have.

My life was charged with Reality in the next few days, weeks, and months after that dream. I had had the kind of encounter that wakens the soul in expectation.

However, I also move and have my being in that world without windows, and it is easy to fall back into a dazed existence, one where I feel no need for God in any area of my life. I grow blind, once again, to the world that Gerard Manly Hopkins so aptly describes as “charged with the grandeur of God.”

Today, I am not suffering from dullness or boredom. Just the opposite. I am filled with creeping, lurking anxiety. I am burdened. My soul is burdened. I need rest.

Jesus, You say, “Come to me all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.”

Yes, Jesus, I am weary. I need the rest only You can give. Rest for my soul.

The old song “Just as I am,” the one we used to sing for sinners, is ringing in my heart. Well, I am a sinner. And I come, just as I am. Weary, needing to learn more of You. And I won’t wait because I know You are patiently waiting to teach me, to fill me with the peace that only you can offer.

Just as I am and waiting not, I come.

”https://youtu.be/HZV5fwmqsI0

 

Posted on

One Hundred Years!!

I think it was the stately old barn  that convinced us to buy the farm. Its age held a nostalgic appeal to Judd and me Though its old red paint had faded to gray,  the barn stood steady and strong under the    weight of hundreds of sweet-smelling hay piled on its top floor.

As the local farmers came to reclaim the hay they had bought, the walls began to reveal not just cobwebs and dust, but memories: old harnesses, tools, and memorabilia. Painted  on the south-east wall was a number: (1918).

The significance of the number was a mystery, until Judd visited one day with old Chappy.  Chapman’s Gas  Station was located on the main road through Keats. If you wanted to know what was happening in the area, you went to Chappy’s, bought a soda from the soda machine,  sat on the bench, and leaned against the outside wall. Chappy, with his pipe in hand, knew all the news of the neighborhood. He also knew the history of Keats. Sitting down beside you, or simply leaning against the wall, he gave us both news and history.

It was through Chappy that we learned the mystery of the date we found painted in the barn.  “I remember my dad talking about how he and others from Keats were putting the roof on that old barn the day that they learned that the Armistice was signed to end the war,” Chappy recounted. That would be a day that we still celebrate: Armistice Day, 1918.

My father was in France on that same day, celebrating with his battalion.

A war,  a soldier, a barn, and residents of Keats, Kansas celebrating with each pound of their hammers up on that tall barn on Kitten Creek Road. History all tied together one hundred years ago!

 

Posted on

Ah!! I Remember . . .

Fifty years of God’s faithfulness in our marriage  brings a  reflection on Trust.

A particular hymn we occasionally sing in church never fails to stir my heart with memories of gratefulness, joy,  and amazement.

At Philadelphia College of Bible  we sang  “Great is Thy Faithfulness”at every chapel meeting.  I remember hurrying from my room, down  five flights of stairs to the old chapel. Yes, my bed was made, everything picked up and neat. This was the time the dorm mom would visit every room for a room- check. Your bed better be made, and you had best be out of the room and down in chapel, or you would receive that dreaded pink slip.

This had been a challenging year for me. I was homesick. My world was once again seemed to be falling apart. So many things were weighing on my heart. We did not really have the money for me to be here; While we had lived near Philadelphia, our family had re-located to New York the year before, so home was far away; and, my mother and father had separated after a huge fight. Now Daddy was living in Florida. My heart ached most of the time.

As the student body rose to begin the service, I watched  Sherwood, my handsome older brother and president of the Student Body lead us in our traditional song: Great is thy faithfulness, O God, my Father. / There is no shadow of turning with thee. / All I have needed Thy hand hath provided/ Great is thy faithfulness, Lord, unto me.

I think that I sang it as a prayer that entire year. Please, Lord, don’t turn away; I will trust you to provide whatever I truly need. I had no idea what the future would hold, it seemed so far away and a little mysterious. Oh, there definitely was joy during that one year at PCB. I made great friends, I sang in the PCB trio, I was secretary of my class. But in my prayer closet (literally the ironing closet on the fifth floor) I would pour out my heart to God.

Fifty-one years ago, when I contemplated marrying the man who had pursued me with his heart, I drew back. Could it, would it be from God? I needed to be reassured that I was putting my faith, not in Judd, but in the faithfulness of God. The verse that I held as confirmation was James 1:17, a verse I had memorized back in my teens: “Every good gift and every perfect good, cometh down from the Father of lights, with whom there is no variableness neither shadow of turning.” There is no shadow of turning with Thee.

As Judd and I walked down the aisle that special evening, we were stepping into a future that was beyond my imagination. I was stepping out of painful memories into a life of stability, faithfulness, and blessing.

After fifty years of marriage, I again sing that song as a prayer!  I sing. with immense thankfulness and joy. I have the long view of time, now. I can trace His path of faithfulness, through the valleys of sadness and pain and over the mountains of blessings.  Always, His hand provided “all I/we have needed.”

Yes! and Yes!

Posted on

A House by the Side of the Road

A house on a farm in Kansas? Can actually touch the world? Or is it the world touching the farm? The answer is: Yes . . . both!

Today we sat around the old oak dining-room table and ate sandwiches with a family from Ukraine. Earlier in the morning we breakfasted around the same table with overnight guests from Georgia, USA.

Meanwhile, grandchildren and our children pass by our dining room window: Dan on his daily prayer walk; Elsie on her bike, off to clean for an elderly woman down Kitten Creek Road; the three younger boys watering all the newly planted trees around our home.  Out our kitchen window we catch glimpses across the road of  Caleb and Josh  moving the goats from one pen to another.

I think of the poem (see below) I have always loved. Yes, I am that introvertish kind of person that likes my space but dearly loves other people. In my house-by-the-side-of-the road I have found I can still be a friend to many, many people.

How blessed I am!!!!

 The House by the Side of the Road

 

 There are hermit souls that live withdrawn
In the place of their self content.
There are souls like stars, that dwell apart,
In a fellowless firmament;
There are pioneer souls that blaze the paths
Where highways never ran-
But let me live by the side of the road
And be a friend to man.
Let me live in a house by the side of the road
Where the race of men go by-
The men who are good and the men who are bad,
As good and as bad as I.
I would not sit in the scorner’s seat
Nor hurl the cynic’s ban-
Let me live in a house by the side of the road
And be a friend to man.
I see from my house by the side of the road
By the side of the highway of life,
The men who press with the ardor of hope,
The men who are faint with the strife,
But I turn not away from their smiles and tears,
Both parts of an infinite plan-
Let me live in a house by the side of the road
And be a friend to man.
I know there are brook-gladdened meadows ahead,
And mountains of wearisome height;
That the road passes on through the long afternoon
And stretches away to the night.
And still I rejoice when the travelers rejoice
And weep with the strangers that moan,
Nor live in my house by the side of the road
Like a man who dwells alone.
Let me live in my house by the side of the road,
Where the race of men go by-
They are good, they are bad, they are weak, they are strong,
Wise, foolish – so am I.
Then why should I sit in the scorner’s seat,
Or hurl the cynic’s ban?
Let me live in my house by the side of the road
And be a friend to man.
Sam Walter Foss

 

Yes,

So thankful for the opportunities we have of stepping through the barriers of space to understand our world just a little better.

Posted on

A Wedding in the Walnut Grove

A wedding! The third grandchild ( third child of Dan and Nancy) is now creating a new limb to our family tree. Lillian and Shiloh’s story goes back ten or eleven years ago when the Brock and Swihart family first met. Even then, it seems, there were sparks. But little did they express that interest until just a few months ago. What joy it was to celebrate their wedding with them. Lillian carried flowers that she had grown in her garden; we shared cherry pie that she and her friends had baked; and the couple drove off in a vehicle that Shiloh and his friends had  “constructed.” Creativity abounds in this couple.

Marriage. God’s plan.  The two become one. And the story grows.

Judd and I are celebrating our 50th this year. We were once the bride and groom creating a limb on the Noble Swihart tree. We had no idea those many years ago how our story would unfold. At this wedding in the walnut grove we held our two great-grandchildren.

Along with a new grand-daughter, Sophie (Derrick and Carrie’s first baby), the joys of babies  and marriage fill our hearts.

 

For the moment, God has wrapped us in a cocoon of contentment.

Posted on

Re-Collecting in the Pasture

Today I needed to walk the old familiar trail in the pasture again.The thoughts and feelings swirling in my mind and heart were and are disconcerting. Thirty-eight years ago, this pasture was new to me. My body was younger. I was filled with anticipation of what could be, Things in the world were . . . just different. Yes, we were on a down-swing in our culture, but there was hope of changing it.

Yesterday we were young, God was with us, we could carry out the vision under God’s direction. We were a community with one heart.

Today, we are not so young. Our  community living here is of one heart. Our old community is a little splintered. Some have gone left, some have stayed right.

Why do divisions occur? That is my conundrum today. When we are guided by the same Spirit, should we not be of one mind?

Perhaps the enemy is not us, but the Enemy who uses our weaknesses, our blind spots, our idols and will exploits them to weaken the Body of Christ. We can defend what we FEEL  is right. We can stake our lives on what we have figured out. (The wisdom of man is foolishness with God, we are told.) Thus, we can lose sight of the most important, become divided,  and lose the battle.

As I  left the pasture and headed back home I noticed the Troyer’s chickens were beginning to bed down for the night. The sun had gone over the hill on their side  the road. Lining up side-by-side on a post in the barn, they were announcing that it was time to roost. My chickens were far  from the hill, and the sun was still shining where they were. They were continuing to wander around looking for more food. Eventually, the sun will go behind the hill for them, also, and they will go into their pen for the night.

It’s just a matter of time.

Posted on

Our Life in the Country

According to the resident expert this is a lavender Australorp (ROOSTER!!!).

Sometimes life in the country takes “true grit.”

My new replacement hen crowed today.  OOps. He was guaranteed to be a hen. Now, my granddaughter, Lillian, tells me the other “hen” is a rooster, also.

And why do I have a replacement in the first place? This is the sad part. According to the trail cam we also have a mother fox with three kits.  This mom decided she needed to feed her babes, and my wonderful, dear old hens were the dinner. The night before a raccoon had decimated my friendly ducks.

I became an “empty nester” in just a few days. So, what will I do with two roosters? Not sure.

I still have some brown and green eggs from the beautiful hens. Gifts. From them to me, (at least I pretend). I had two fried eggs with toast to day which I ate in memory of the girls.

Silly, inconsequential happenings in the big scheme of things. But everyday, nitty-gritty life on a farm. You win, you lose.  Today I lost the battle with Donqui. Flies are eating his legs, but today I could not catch him to spray the dastardly flies. I gave up and walked away this time. Donqui won. That’s one for the donkey.

Notice his ears. With the can of spray behind my back, I know he will bolt when I pull it out.

 

 

BUT, what is life without challenges? I still love this life on Kitten Creek Road.

Posted on

Memories of the Farm by Michael Kizzee

When invited, along with many others, to write my memories of Well Spring farm on Kitten Creek Road, I found myself at a loss. How does one capture in words the way a piece of land has imprinted one’s spirit?  Thinking about the memories makes me want to return again, but  I fear the moment has passed and it wouldn’t be the same.

Never-the-less, I will try to share the impact this farm had upon me.

579787_10151184703522416_1036411355_nMy first visit to the farm came when Nancy and Judd were rebuilding the barn that was in disrepair. My girlfriend at the time, Alicia, (later my wife of 19 years) invited me to come to the farm to help.[i]  I spent the day, along with others, nailing slats on the entire west side of the barn, and had a wonderful time meeting new people from all around who had  heard about the project on the radio and stopped by to lend a hand[ii]This might have been my first introduction to Judd’s and Nancy Swihart’s land.

 

My next encounter was probably about 1998 when Nancy, my professor at Manhattan Christian College, invited me to play a part in a nativity pageant she had developed through the group Wellspring. Nancy knew I was an actor of sorts and thought it would be a good fit. It was a quaint and short little excerpt from the prophets and the Gospel of Luke. I spoke with Nancy afterward about how this could be a great outdoor production. Nancy shared that she had already had ideas on such a production but needed help in developing it. Nancy spoke to me about all her ideas and we, along with a few others, worked together with another professor, Dr. Wesley Paddock, who developed a script for us to use.[iii]  This pageant was to grow into what is now Bethlehem Revisited. I’ve been told it draws thousands these days.

I felt honored to play the role of the  resurrected Savior for a couple of years, directing the production one year, ascan0001s well. But, I can honestly say that playing the role of Jesus changed my life causing me to reflect upon my spirit and soul.  I  seemed to be filled with a grace outside of myself. The experience deeply  changed me.

The land itself, though, is what I remember the most. I found great delight in seeking solace in the cedar woods on the back side of the property. When I needed to escape, I would call Judd and Nancy and they would welcome me. Judd would meet me when I pulled up to the farm and help me gather wood that he had cut and stacked. He would offer a lantern or advice as to what might help my journey into the woods.

Nancy and Judd were  excited for people to venture in. They were like children excited to see what healing or goodness might come your way. They knew what God’s creation does for the spirit and soul of those who give themselves to it. They were true hosts of healing.

On a cold winter’s night I would trudge over the hillside with the sounds and chills of the whipping Kansas wind in my face. Then, as I entered the cedars, slowly the sound would begin to subside and the chill disappear as I trekked down the hill. The trail led to a lonely cabin where I would set a camp fire and be still and listen. There is where my heart stilled and I could be alone with God’s creation. There I could look within without the distractions of the world. There is where my tainted soul would truly be revealed. A place where I fell down so I could get back up.

I have many other memories of “silent retreats” and artists gathering together in cabins to share poetry, music, art and short stories.

I will always remember the peace this land left with me. I thank God that Nancy and Judd gave their land to the Lord to use in a way that has touched so many.

 

[i] This was “Nehemiah 95,” and will occupy a post later.

[ii] Most of these were students and others who had already built memories at parties or meetings in the barn.

[iii] At this time the pageant became a guided tour of small groups.  Dr. Paddock’s script was the forerunner of our current script.

Posted on

Our Christmas at the Farm by Kim Moir

SAM_1258

Self-pity was not far from my mind on that Christmas morning many years ago. Currier and Ives images of families gathered around Christmas trees and Norman Rockwell’s ghosts of idealism floated through my mind as we put on our winter coats, boots, and hats. It was only 9 AM and I had already been up for several hours keeping Nicky entertained and out of trouble while he watched Disney videos in his room so he would not wake our other son, Scott.

Bill and I packed up what we would need for our Christmas morning cookout, loaded up the car, and headed west to a place we knew would be a safe and quiet spot where we could spend a few hours of our day. Nicky has autism, and in the earlier years of his life we had help with him in our home for twelve hours a day. His needs were so severe that he needed constant monitoring, engagement, and structured teaching to keep him growing and moving in a positive direction. Because today was Christmas, our workers were at home with their own families, and we were on duty. This routine had been going on for many years.  We were growing weary of having people in and out of our home, sleepless nights, and days filled with tantrums and bites while we tried to coerce Nick into using his language to communicate.

The Farm became our place of quiet this day, and in the car Nicky settled into a place of calm. Driving to this familiar location brought with it an assurance that we would always be welcome, no matter what day of the year it was, or what time it was. Thankfulness replaced my self pity as I realized we were creating memories which were uniquely ours, shared by none. Parking beyond the driveway to the Swihart’s house, we unpacked our car and headed out through the pasture, down the path toward the cabin in the woods.

 

Nicky knew the way because he frequented this place on other days, with other workers.  He looked forward to a quiet time in the woods where he could pick up rocks, crush leaves, and wander in the beauty of dappled sunlight beaming through overhead trees. A chorus of crunches from our footsteps sounded from the snow and soon we headed slightly downhill and to the left, to the opening in the trees where we would settle for a while with the trees as windbreak. Bill and Scott worked together on the fire as I unpacked the picnic basket, unloading sausages and bagels, juice and utensils. We had unwrapped our stockings at home before we left, and Scott was assured that presents awaited us when we got home.

When hard times come to a family, it is what you do with the everyday moments that create habits of perseverance, character, and hope. Creative choices come when we are willing to explore the landscape provided for us and step out into the unknown. Such was the case this Christmas Day.

SAM_1259

Bill and Scott gathered kindling and started a fire while Nick played in the woods and I sat on a rock and waited, thinking of our unique morning. I really didn’t want to be here, but this was a safe option for our morning.  As I look back on this now, I can see God’s hand of provision for us this Christmas day. Sausages cooked on the fire, we prayed, gave thanks for the meal, and quietly ate together as a family. For today this was our manna provided in the woods, a respite away from our home, another sign to us that God saw our need and showed us a way to keep going.