The Best Way to Handle Hunger Cravings {The Pumpkin Cannon Edition: Fridays on the Farm}

The men brought the pumpkin cannon.

And all the church ladies brought pie, 160 pies.

We made peach.

And my brother rolled out of bed in the 2 am dark to begin the pig roast under stars.















By 4 in the afternoon, when the sky’s sculling billowy and hope-full, we were ready.

And this community of gravel backroads and dairy barns and 4 wheel drive pickup trucks, these fields with its farmers and the helping wives and babies in strollers with big brothers walking bowlegged like their dad, they slow down for a few hours.

Roll in for our little chapel’s annual free BBQ, what we made just for them

the way the Body of Christ can reach out to its neighbors and say, “Welcome. We like you. We’re the busted and the beloved and we’re the broken who break the bread and can do nothing less than pass it down. There’s a place for you here.”

Our God’s set a place for you at the table, so you don’t have to settle for scraps at the back door. Please Come — sit next to me.

Nancy Martin sets out the last of the berried pies.

And Steve Bachert and my brother under that ridiculous white flapping hat of his, they bring in the platters of smoked meat steaming, and Pastor Goodkey, he prays. Our pastor with a name like this, he prays, and we all say Amen.

The way to starve is to steal morsels at the table of triviality and all our hunger is for the holy

Joy is sacred  because it’s found only in His presence and when you know His presence everywhere, then anywhere can become a feast.

Over the piping baked beans, Grace’s got her blonde hair pulled back and her sleeves rolled up, and and I love how she laughs happy when she asks me if I want more? Grace always asks if you want more.

I laugh too and say sure, and all you have to do is say yes, and I stick my plate out for another helping.

The soul is dangerously anorexic when it doesn’t have a daily appetite for Christ.  

Two of our boys go back up for baked potatoes and whole third helpings.

Is it possible to be so stuffed with good things that there is no room for God things? 

After the pies and the pork and the pumpkin cannon — after the pumpkin cannon that shot a whole line up of homegrown orange artillery at an abandoned schoolbus with a target brazenly spray painted on it’s side — and all the schoolkids and far older alumni cheered — {because us  farm folks are just a bit happily down-to-earth comical like this} —

after the last of all the sweet was scarfed right down,

I wandered out quiet toward our rusting white pickup truck and it was right there over the fields:

the whole world set out like a banquet —


And I nod.

When you slow is when you hear: “Do you like it? I made it just for you.”

Please Come — sit next to Me.