Sprinkles of Living Water: "Thirst Quenchers"

By Winston E. Pike

These short stories were written to be practical and believable with a bit of humor thrown in. There is not much preaching, but some thoughts to nibble at and chew onmaybe a little something to add to your own life.

You will find a good amount of family and farm experience included between these covers as well, and hopefully you will find a satisfying supply of personal refreshment from these cooling sprinkles.

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: Jan 14, 2016
• ISBN: 9781512720679

Winston E. Pike

Winston Pike was raised on a farm in Michigan. He has served as pastor, crusade song leader, vocal soloist, youth director, and now serves as chaplain at a resort community in Central Florida where he lives with his wife, Lynda. Between them, they have five children, fifteen grandchildren, and nine great-grandchildren. The couple enjoy RV travel, and she also enjoys knitting and he enjoys reading fictional westerns. Many of the writings in “Sprinkles” of Living Water are from a weekly series in a local newspaper.

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Copyright © 2016 Winston E. Pike.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Scriptures taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version®, NIV®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.™ Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved worldwide. www.zondervan.com The NIV and New International Version are trademarks registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office by Biblica, Inc.™ All rights reserved.

WestBow Press

A Division of Thomas Nelson & Zondervan

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Bloomington, IN 47403

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

PHOTO CREDITS

COVER: Kathleen Kushman

AUTHOR: Sandi Walsh

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

ISBN: 978-1-5127-2068-6 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5127-2069-3 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-5127-2067-9 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2015919084

WestBow Press rev. date: 01/13/2016

Contents

Introduction

The A Farmall Tractor

Orchards and Strawberries

The Bells Are Ringing

Fig Jam

Full Measure

I Appreciate It

Little House Legacy

My Toes Don’t Hurt Like They Used To

Chances Are

Church Members I Have Known … and Still Know

Enough for the Journey

A Commonsense Way of Life

A Highway of Freedom

A Menu for Success

A Wonder Lake Wedding

One Last Fling

Abandoned Barns

On Making Room

Small Miracles

The Fifty-Niners to Alaska

Summer of ’73

The Rapidity of Change

The Value of Struggle

What? Me Worry?

Wrong Turns

You Can Plant Year-Round

You’ve Got to Do It with Style

Of Tides and Threads

No Time for Farming

New Beginnings

Grandpa Pike

An Everlasting Thirst Quencher

Behold, I Show You a Mystery

Believe It … or Not!

A Wonderful and Bountiful Supply

I’m Just Biding My Time

Is It Time to Empty Your Holding Tank?

Intruders

Johnny B.

Landmarks

Leave a Mark

It’s Camp Meeting Time

Cussin’

Cheap Wheels

Aim High

Moments of Inspiration

Of Cadillacs, Packards, and Fords

On Settling Up

Saints Alive

Sound Investments

Still Showing Up

The One-Room School

The Tuffy

There’s Really Not Much to It

Thoughts for the Lenten Season

It’s an Inside Job

Winterizing the Old Log House

Dipping from the Well

Equine Beauties

I Wonder

Revival

The Old Shafer Trail

Twists and Turns

When the Wheels Fall Off

I Was Rescued, but I’ve Still Got the Scar

Hy-Pine and Prince

Homemade Window Shutters

Timing Is Everything

Introduction

R ecently, while sitting across from me discussing goals and plans for the future, one of my grandsons asked, Grandpa, do you have a twenty year plan? I laughed right out loud. There was a time when I had etched out a lengthy blueprint for years to come but now living in the autumn of life, it is considerably shorter. The grandson is a committed Christian, also a dedicated husband and father. In large measure it is to him and other branches on my family tree that I have penned many of the essays contained in Sprinkles of Living W ater.

Members of the clan currently living on this earth and future generations to come need to own a knowledge of their roots. What was grandpa like? Is he a part of the reason I’m the way I am? What made him tick? And what about the great and great-great grandparents? What caused them to reach out and grasp hold of a system of eternal values – and why is that important today? This volume contains droplets, dribbles, and trickles of goodness and spiritual reflection from personal experience. Several of the brief and concise accounts contain a bit of humor too and are often couched within a rural setting. Also included are special moments from travel excursions and mutual sharing with other believers.

Had I failed to preserve many of the stories on paper they would simply be forever lost to our family history. There are remembrances within these pages that will bring laughter and joy to the family for years to come. There are also reminders of sad times and difficult days. Several of the writings are simply about the general course of everyday living.

Because of the Creator’s rich blessing upon my own life, I desire to have a part in seeing an authentic application of God’s grace extended toward as many people as possible, both within the family and beyond. Perhaps this personal narrative will assist in encouraging such an outcome.

The A Farmall Tractor

T he Farmall A tractor catapulted off the west side of the narrow, old, rickety wooden bridge and flipped over. The ten-year-old boy on the seat gripped the wheel for dear life and went with it into the water below. On that twenty-ninth day of August, the weather was cool, and he wore a heavy coat. There were only a few feet of water in the county ditch, but it was certainly enough to take his life. Still conscious but underwater, he reached for something to grab a hold of to pull his head high enough to breathe.

With his hand wrapped around the drawbar, he yanked with all his might—but almost to no avail. The tractor was upside down, and his legs were pinned under the seat. Wiggle room was basically nonexistent, but he did manage to pull his mouth just above the waterline. He knew that his arms would not hold out for very long and that he desperately needed some assistance. He began to pray for help and to confess the sins of his life, although the list could not have been all that extensive. He hung on, waiting for outside intervention.

It was almost noon. His father and older brother had left the field only a few minutes earlier and headed up to the house for dinner. He was to finish that round, unhook, and come on up too. A field of corn grew tall between him and the house.

I obviously didn’t show up for lunch. I heard a car coming down the gravel road, and from where I lay, I could see that it was Dad in the old ’36 Ford. He saw the problem before he saw me. He slid to a stop, swung the door open, and hollered my name. I answered! Dad slid down the muddy ditch bank and into the water. He wrapped his arms around me and pulled hard, but I was not about to move. The tractor held me tightly. He needed additional help and asked if I could hang on. As he climbed up out of the ditch, I cried out to him, Daddy, I’m prayin’.

Within a couple of minutes, help was on the way. We usually kept a governor string attached to those tractors, and with my brother behind the wheel, he had that string pulled all the way back. He jockeyed that rig across what was left of the bridge and backed up to the edge while Dad hooked a chain to the far wheel of the wreck. He then eased it slowly ahead. For the second time in a matter of minutes, my father jumped into that muddy old ditch, grabbed hold, and this time pulled me to safety. It was a great rescue.

There is a lot of excellent sermon material in that story of course. Both life and the Bible are full of great rescues. In books, it makes for exciting reading. In reality, it makes for changed hearts and lives … and renewed hope. There is something special about second chances and new beginnings. I’ve had more than my share.

That event had a profound effect on me. Having been raised in a Christian home, in church, and around a family altar, I understood the need to invite Christ into my life.

It was now a year later, and we were seated near the front of the old tabernacle at a camp meeting on a Saturday night. My father, our neighbor Mr. Wilson, and I were there. I learned a great many old gospel songs and hymns at camp meetings and had acquired a love for that special atmosphere at an early age.

Ever since the tractor accident the previous year, I had wanted to give my heart to the Lord. I held off, however. But now, on this Saturday evening, I at last had a great opportunity to make my move. This was surely the time. At the invitation, however, I balked. While I was standing there, I rationalized by saying to myself that there was still one more day of camp meeting and I would simply take care of the situation the next morning. I decided to procrastinate and put it off. Important decisions in life are often relegated with this method.

Sunday morning found us all in the same spot—Dad on the aisle, me in the middle, and Mr. Wilson on my left. I have no idea what songs were sung or what the evangelist preached about. All I knew was that this was my moment. I slipped out in front of Dad, walked a few feet, and knelt at the altar a little to the right of center.

As an eleven-year-old boy, I was coming to Jesus. Dad knelt on one side of me, and Mr. Wilson knelt on the other. My father pulled a New Testament from his suit pocket and turned to John 6:37 (KJV). He read to me the words of Jesus: Him that cometh unto me, I will in no wise cast out. I sincerely prayed words of forgiveness and acceptance, and the abiding presence of the Lord became real. I’ll never forget it. I remember that afternoon feeling like a new kid. In fact, I guess I was.

In truth, the rest of the tractor accident story goes like this: I was already across that old bridge and on my way to the house, but I turned around and went back to scuff out the tracks I had made in the gravel road. Dad would see them that afternoon and know that I had driven in a reckless manner. I would simply get rid of the evidence. After I smoothed things up, I pulled down on the bridge to turn around, got too close to the left side, hit the wrong brake pedal, and flipped over the edge. There were all kinds of wrong moves and wrong decisions.

The result was suffering a broken leg, inhaling ether on two occasions to knock me out, having to wear a cast for nearly three months, and missing almost a half year of school. Now, after walking a bit lopsided for most of my life, that bum leg has come back to haunt me in these later years. The consequences of wrong choices do seem reluctant to leave.

Like me being pinned under the tractor, the lingering reminder is that we sometimes find ourselves in situations where we cannot help ourselves and where assistance must come from someone else. My father never thought about getting himself wet and muddy or about leaving me in that mess to fend for myself. Nor did he punish me for my foolishness. He only wished to have his son back safe and sound from the brink of disaster. Likewise, God doesn’t chastise us for our current conditions, but rather he reaches down into the chaos, confusion, and turmoil of our lives, wraps his strong arms around us, and hauls us into the safety of his love, compassion, and forgiveness. I was glad when Dad pulled me up into his arms, and I was overjoyed when Jesus did the same thing.

Orchards and Strawberries

T rees. Fruit-bearing trees. Pictures in the Burpee ’ s catalog were very impressive. Could I really grow fruit that looked like that? Excitedly I placed an order. An assortment of apple trees, peach trees, and even a couple of plum trees were on the list. Excitement abounded. I could hardly wait for their arrival. Then a card arrived in the mailbox. The trees were at the post office in town. I pondered. Would I need a trailer to haul more than twenty trees? I decided to chance it with just the station wagon. The clerk went into the back and returned with a package about two feet long that fit in one hand. That was the entire lot. Seedlings! I had obviously expected much more. There would be no munching of fresh fruit for a while.

Disappointed, I drove back home. It was the fall of the year, and no matter how puny they looked, it was time to get them planted. Up on the hillside, I stepped off the rows, cut a slit in the sod, and stuck them in the ground. Then I read the directions. They clearly stated that the trees were to be cut back. The words actually said, Severely prune! Even though I was afraid of losing them all, with some reluctance, I severely pruned.

A few weeks later, I looked out at the poor things. They appeared to be pretty well covered with