My mother was born Grace Geraldine Sasser on February 12, 1916 in Newark, Ohio, the youngest child of Charles and Anna Sasser. Mother lived with her family “in the south end.” If you were from Newark, as I was, everyone there was pretty much categorized by the end of town in which you lived. “The south end” was always a workingman’s neighborhood with humble homes and narrow streets.

It is the smaller end of town so students in Junior High School went to Central as Mother did. My mother then went to Newark High. She had a quick mind and shared the Sasser family attribute of a saucy tongue. She did all right in school but dropped out at the end of the ninth grade. Keep reading →

Kenneth F. Pierpont, M.Ed, M.Div, D.Min.

On April 3, 2008, the State of Texas raided the compound of the Fundamental Church of Latter Day Saints near Eldorado. Child Protective Services (CPS) with a signed warrant was the authority for the raid.

Local authorities claimed that they had suspected the ranch called “Yearning For Zion” was actually a polygamous community operating in violation of Texas law. The local sheriff was interviewed on television and indicated that he had an “inside person” giving him information about the group. He denied that the person was actually a member of the group, however. Keep reading →

GRANDPAS TALL (TRUE) TALES

Tale #7– “Night Rescue”

Ken and Lois had married a few months before. They were trying to decide what the Lord wanted them to do. Ken had completed one year at Baptist Bible College (BBC) in Springfield, Missouri. He and Lois planned ministry but the details of education and future place of service were still unknown to them.
Keep reading →

Of course, most people know the Bible was not originally written in English. Most of the Old Testament books were written first in Hebrew, the mother tongue or language of the people of Israel. Toward the end of Old Testament history Aramaic became the common language of the Jewish people. So, certain books of the Bible, written after about 600 B.C.,were written in Aramaic. Among these, for example were the books of Daniel and Ezra. Keep reading →

Scholars who have investigated the lives of people the world over and through many centuries have discovered that everywhere they go, the people there have some form of worship of a divine being. In many places their worship is of trees, animals, and objects they have made themselves which Christians know as “idols.” Such worship sometimes involves bowing down to the stars, the constellations and other heavenly bodies. Keep reading →

In our first lesson we showed the meaning of “Old Testament” and “New Testament.”

These two sections of the Bible tell how God began dealing with man on earth (Old Testament) and how He continues to do so today (New Testament). Keep reading →

Kenneth F. Pierpont, M.Div., M.Ed., D.Min.
Bible Teacher and Pastor

“Bible Facts, Mysteries and Secrets Made Plain as Day” is a series of brief Bible lessons made available to everyone who has ever had an interest in the Bible but has found the going a little tough. Each lesson has a number and a name for easy reference. Keep reading →

It was July 4th, 1955. My buddy LeRoy Beckwith, Seaman Apprentice, as the Navy put it, rode beside me from Glenview Naval Air Station as I pointed my little black Chevy north toward the picnic park a mile or so the other side of Deerfield, Illinois. We were in “civies,” no dress whites for us this warm summer day. We were on liberty, no duty for either of us this Independence Day. What a relief.

Neither of us had ever been to a “fun day” at the Community Baptist Church. In fact, LeRoy had never been to one of their services. I had been there several times on Wednesday night and some Sunday nights, but we hardly knew any of the people. Pastor Wally Warfield had invited me to their Sunday School Picnic. “Come on out. There’ll be plenty of food and fun. You’ll like it!”– His invitation was friendly but not overbearing. I decided to ask LeRoy if he wanted to go with me. We agreed and so about 11 o’clock we showed our “I.D,s” at the main gate and the sentry waved us through. It was a thirty-five minute drive to where the pastor told me the park was.

As I pulled into the parking lot a few youngsters were playing softball. A thin early middle-aged man was tossing the ball toward children who were taking turns batting. They invited us into the game. We tossed the ball around with them and ran after the few that were actually hit softly into the little “outfield.” It was not much like a real game. There were a few young teens there, at least one I noted.

Before long it was time to eat. We had been told, “Just come. We’ll have plenty of food.” So we did. And they did! It was a good meal. As I recall there was a devotional time and a few more games. Then came time for “the ladies’ game.” We were encouraged to watch.

The six or eight ladies who were standing around looked uncomfortable, each one, in being the first to try the game. The object was to be good at throwing a rolling pin. I knew well what a rolling pin was. My Grandma Sasser had used one many time in my presence as she rolled out the dough for the many pies she baked at home for years. We all lived together. She was my second “mom.”

There was a grotesque-looking dummy stuffed into a flannel shirt and a pair of big coveralls. He was hanging from a tree, his “feet” about touching the ground. “Now ladies,” the game leader, probably the Sunday school superintendent, called out, “If your husband stays out late for no good reason, show us what you’ll do to him. Use your rolling pin.”

No one moved. No one wanted to be first. The leader asked again for a volunteer. Suddenly, from the side of the group, a dark-haired girl stepped forward. I remembered then that she had been on the “ball field” earlier that day and seemed to have the care of a young boy. I took him to be her baby brother. Later, I found out that he was. “Jimmy,” she called him. I had paid little attention to her. She looked very young and I had dismissed her from my mind.

Now this cute girl stepped forward and announced in a strong voice: “I don’t have a husband, but if I did, this is what would happen if he came in late.” Reaching out for the rolling pin in the leader’s hand, she grasped it and turned and hurled it hard toward the unfortunate dummy. To the amazement of everyone there, it traveled end-over-end and struck the “husband” in the mid-section. Instantly he was flung high in the air and his coveralls flew off and landed unceremoniously on the ground.

The young girl buried her head in her hands and fled to the back of the ladies’ group. I don’t remember how the wives there did, but to say the least they were out-shown by the reckless act of the dark-haired girl.

A few minutes later a lady spoke up as LeRoy and I stood around with some of the folk there. “Pastor,” she announced, I don’t think these young people have met” and she gestured toward the small group of teens who were there near us. Pastor Warfield gave our names and we nodded toward the young people whose names were announced. The cute girl was one of them.

It struck me that maybe some of them had older sisters LeRoy and I might get interested in. I quickly asked the group if any of them went to “Youth For Christ” in Chicago on Saturday nights. As I recall, they expressed interest in going but had, apparently, not gone before. We were able to make the arrangements for the following Saturday evening and got directions to the young girl’s house in Evanston, about twenty miles from the Naval Air Station. The lady who asked that we be introduced was a “Mrs. Shipley.” I realized she was the mother of the dark-haired girl named “Jane.”

As it turned out, Jane did have an older sister who was a nice Christian girl. She went with us to Youth For Christ. It was Jane, her sister, Sue, and a young girl friend of Jane. We visited and sang choruses and familiar hymns on our ride to and from Chicago. LeRoy and I rode in the front seat and I noticed Jane rode behind me with her sister and friend in the back as well.

Coming from a Lutheran church and being a babe in Christ, I knew many formal hymns but few choruses. One hymn we sang was “Fairest Lord Jesus.” I remember telling Jane that I knew the hymn as “Beautiful Saviour.” She inquired about the words. I began to recite them to her and I think she was writing them down. When we got to the words, “Truly I love Thee, truly I’d serve Thee” I became a little embarrassed. I was telling them to a sixteen-year-old girl. I was twenty-one. I froze on the words as Jane asked for them again. I wondered if that went through her mind too. Later I thought of the incident again. Suddenly she didn’t seem so young to me.

NEWS NOTE FROM KENWALKS.COM

I’m back. kenwalks.com has been “off the air” for quite a few weeks now. I have been moving my family to our new ministry in Portersville, Ohio, a tiny community in south central Ohio, just forty miles from where I grew up.

Our church here is a small country ministry that was founded in l864. It has always been small with only a couple dozen believers gathering around 20 or so at a time to worship the Lord and to be a testimony to Him.

The people in the church, and one man in particular have worked hard to convert the old parsonage from the fellowship hall it has been for more than thirty years back to a residence for the pastor. We are moved in now and grateful to be able to get started in ministry.

Our two youngest sons, Kevin and Nathan with a lot of help from their families helped us move the larger things on October 1st. Just Monday we moved in the last of our belongings from their storage place in Newark, where I grew up. My brother, Bill, loaned us his garage and numerous things we brought from Michigan some weeks ago were there.

We are about seventy miles southeast of Columbus. If we can help any of you out there, be sure to contact us and we’ll do all we can to help you.

We are glad to be back in circulation. Pray for us and contact us at kenwalks.com, send email or phone us at 740-342-5378. Our address is:
Ken and Jane Pierpont
15622 Portie-Flamingo Road SE
Corning, OH 43730.

In Christ,

Ken Pierpont

GRANDPA’S TALL (TRUE) TALES

The wagon wheels scored the soft earth as the old Furgeson tractor pulled it to a stop in the hillside corn field. It was November and a bit cold but not unusually so for central Ohio this time of year. As I recall, my school district was not holding classes that day so I had no teaching responsibilities. Our children were in the nearby Utica schools or the younger ones were home with their mother. I don’t quite remember the circumstance. .

Be that as it may, my dad and I were together on the old farm. We had decided to take the wagon with its sideboards up into the field to “pick up nubbins” as Dad referred to the small ears of corn the picker had missed as it passed down the rows. Sometimes the small ears would roll off the elevator as the picker fed the ears to it making their way up and into the wagon. Dad was too frugal to let them lie in the field all winter since they would make good feed for his forty head of white-faced cattle.

In the corner of the wagon lay “Old Bellerin’ Betsy” Dad’s Winchester twelve gauge shotgun. A cartridge was in the chamber. “We might kick up a rabbit,” Dad mused to me,” so, since they’re in season , we’ll see if we can get a shot.”

After about only five minutes of walking around in the soft corn field, we had our chance. The stubble of the corn stocks and a few weeds here and there offered a little cover and we knew in some of that cover there might be a rabbit. As we bounced some of the ears of corn into the wagon we spooked a nearby rabbit. from his squat. The speeding hare darted between us. Dad yelled out our characteristic response we had used so many years in hunting: “There he goes!” He lunged for the shotgun.

To my right just a few feet away was a ground hog hole. Mr. Rabbit disappeared down the hole in a flash. Dad whirled around with “Bellerin Betsy” but knew he didn’t have a shot–to close to me and too late!

“Well, he got away,” I called out in disappointment. Dad. standing there in his old “blanket-lined wamus,” as he always called his blue dungaree jacket, brown cap pulled down with the bill just off the middle, had a twinkle in his eye. He took a couple of steps toward the ground hog hole and began to look around.

“Oh, not necessarily,” he mused in reply to my disappointed call. “Let’s see, ground hogs always have two holes,” he offered quietly, and began to circle the hole into which our furry friend had disappeared. After a few moments he called to me as I stood watching, “Here it is over here by this little bush.” And, sure enough, there in a rough place around which Dad had plowed, was a pile of rocks and earth barely betraying the presence of the other hole.

Dad took a couple of steps and reached down with both hands and picked up a good-sized boulder, nicely bigger than the hole. He leaned around and plunked it down over the hole. He raised up and in ceremony scuffed his hands together. “That takes care of that,” he said as he made his way back to me and toward the other hole, our rabbit’s escape route.

I was mystified. “What’er we goin to do.” I asked as I saw the ornery look coming on to Dad’s face. His reply startled me.

“Let’s dig him out,” Dad said with a laugh. I shot back, “You can’t do that!” He instantly replied, “Why not, he’s not goin anywhere,” he chortled as he reached for the three-pointed shovel he always had on the wagon. I remember shaking my head and smiling with some satisfaction.

So began our dig. The soft earth turned easily as we began at the open hole into which “Peter Cottontail” had disappeared. We threw the dirt back to our right and the pile began to mount at once. Taking turns on the shovel and chuckling as we went, our breathing created twirls of condensation rising away from the scene.

After a while it became evident that we had taken on a challenging task. Deeper and deeper we shoveled into the moist autumn soil. Pausing occasionally to survey our work, we saw the hole deepen to surprising size. Finally I said, “… seems irreverent, what we’re doing doesn’t it?” I smiled at Dad. He smiled back and offered: “Yea!” And we dug on sounding as giddy as a couple of schoolboys.

Now the dirt pile had taken on the proportions of an oil drum. We dug on, pausing only as we traded the shovel back and forth for a few moments’ rest. The hole was getting ridiculously big and we were getting tired. Now it crossed my mind that it would take us some time to fill the hole back in once we got the rabbit. If we did! I was pretty sure Dad had never dug out a rabbit before and I knew I hadn’t. I wasn’t quite sure how we would know when we were about there. I soon found out.

Our hole now seemed the likely burial plot for a good-sized piano. Still no rabbit. Just then Dad pushed my hands back after I had turned a shovel full of dirt. “Wait!” He stooped down and carefully watched the dirt in the hole for a moment. Suddenly, a small portion of the dirt moved! Dad reached down with his right hand as he hovered over the hole. In a moment he plunged his hand into the dirt and with appropriate fanfare swung Mr. Rabbit up to his left and to me, with a tight grip on his ears.

“You can do the honors,” Dad chortled to me, bringing back memories of our many rabbit hunts when I was a kid. He meant, “I have him, take him by the hind legs, turn him down and whack him with the back of your hand to break his neck.” I did. The kicking bunny breathed his last. Our hunt was a success. We knew the answer to our question: “Can you dig a rabbit out of a ground hog hole? Yes, you can!” I tossed the cottontail up onto the wagon and turned to begin filling in the hole. Later that afternoon, Dad skinned him and committed him to freezer for future reference, namely a nice meal.

Somehow, this experience seemed to remind me of a joke my niece, my brother Bill’s eldest daughter, Diana, had told the family a year or two before. I remember her smiling face as she related the joke, part of which she sang:

“Uncle Ken” she said, “Little Rabbit Fo Fo, walkin’ through the forest, grabbin’ all the field mice, bashing ‘em in the head. Along came the Good Fairy, and she said: ‘Little Rabbit Fo Fo, if you don’t stop bashin’ the field mice, I’m goin’ to turn you into a goon.’ I’ll give you one more chance.”

“Then came the next day: ‘Little Rabbit Fo Fo, walking through the forest, grabbin’ all the field mice, bashin’ ‘em in the head. Along came the good fairy, and she said, ‘Little Rabbit Fo Fo, I told you yesterday to stop bashin’ all the field mice. Now I’m going to turn you into a goon. And she did.’

“Now the moral of that story is: ‘Hare today, goon tomorrow.’” Reminds me of our rabbit in the holed: “Hare today, gone tomorrow!”

I suppose I’ll always remember that crazy fun day with my dad so many years ago on the old farm. I love you, Dad, I’ll never forget you.