Farmer John
Farmer John
March 21, 2006
I believe I was not more than six years old when I boarded the “James Whitcomb Riley,” a train named after the famed Indiana poet. We pulled out of a Chicago train station in the middle of the night, en route to Kentucky, from California. The train, as I recall, had a stainless steel exterior, and sported wooden seats. I learned many years later that this train was not long thereafter decommissioned and placed in a train museum. Though I was certainly too young to understand it at the time, I knew intuitively that I was aboard a vessel of unique history.
I will never forget the “clackity-clack” sounds as we rode through the night. Every now and then, the train would pass an illuminated sign that emanated just enough light that I could discern a painting on the forward wall of my compartment. When the light would penetrate the darkness, I could discern two stoic faces in the painting, a woman and a man. The man held a pitchfork. I could see by their dress that they were farmers. Behind the two figures, I could see the spread of a farm. The eyes within these two farmers pierced me. In their faces, I saw a fierce determination to prevail. I did not know what they were to prevail at, but I knew they would prevail, somehow.
The image of those two farmer’s faces remained with me for many years. It was as if they had recruited me to their cause—to maintain, persevere and defend their farm. It was not until decades later that I encountered the painting again, upon which I discovered the painting’s title: “American Gothic.”
My Mother took we siblings from California to Kentucky many times during my upbringing. We often visited my relatives, most of whom lived in the country, on farms.
I recall the first time I set foot on my “Uncle Red’s” farm in Pendleton County. The smell of the dew in the grass, the aged wooden structures, a wood-burning fireplace, wet hay and livestock all culminated into a sensory experience that pulled me into another world—a world light years removed from a planet called Los Angeles.
As we returned to California from the first trip that I can remember, I recall happening upon a children’s book entitled, “Farmer John.” As I thumbed through the pages, I was able to relive my adventures on the farms in Kentucky. My heart swelled as I imagined being a farmer some day. That dream never came to fruition—but the dream remains in my heart.
In the Autumn of 1990, having moved to Kentucky from California, and as I made my way back to Kentucky from a ministry trip to nearby Indianapolis, I pulled my car off the highway in a small town, to refuel. As I placed the fuel nozzle into my gas tank and began to pump fuel, I looked across the road and into a vast cornfield. It seemed the further I looked, the more the field continued, until I could see corn all the way to three points on the horizon. It was as if I was viewing one million acres of corn. I became so absorbed in what I was seeing that I completely forgot about the fact that I was standing at a gas station refueling my car. Suddenly I felt a hand on my upper arm, and heard the word, “Sir.” A gas station attendant asked me if I was “feeling O.K.” I recall taking a good ten seconds to regain my focus on what I was doing, before realizing, according to the attendant, that I had been standing next to my car for nearly ten minutes.
After paying the cashier for my gas, I returned to my car and sat motionless for at least another five minutes. I did not see another car during the entire time at this gas station. As I sat there in my car, shaking off the fog of the experience, I realized that the cornfield I had been absorbed in earlier, was no ways near the enormity of the cornfield I saw several minutes prior. In a daze, yet feeling deep within that the Holy Spirit was somehow behind this experience, I drove away from the gas station, back onto the highway, and continued to enjoy the country sites, which included many farms. Before returning to my home later that evening, I concluded there was a mysterious connection between the surreal cornfield I had seen, and the gas station in which I had refueled.
In the Winter of 1991, and during a season in which I was daily overwhelmed by the tremendous outpouring of God’s visitation upon a ministry I was heavily involved in at the time, I decided on a Sunday afternoon, to take a long drive into the country of southeastern Ohio. Largely rural, and blanketed in fresh snow, I was overjoyed by the scenic farms along the highway. At one point, I began to pray this prayer: “Lord, show me the pain in this region. Show me some facet of the socioeconomic, political and historical pain that resides in this land, that I can pray for healing over this area as I pass through.” Just moments following, I began to pass farms that appeared abandoned. In some cases, the houses on these farms appeared to be inhabited, but the farm implements themselves had been abandoned. Weeds and rust had consumed them. Barns and stables that were once vibrant with life, were now withered and dilapidated. As I continued to pass these farms, I began to see visions of hearts over these farms. Over each farm I saw a large and beautiful heart, pumping in unison with the other hearts. I perceived that this was the Heart of God over this region. I knew that He wanted to heal the pain that had taken the life from these farms.
Having arrived at a suitable expanse of countryside not long thereafter, I pulled my car off the road and wandered onto what appeared to be a vacant farm. It was snowing steady at the time. I approached a felled tree in the middle of a pasture, and decided to sit for a time to pray. After a few seconds had passed, I thought it odd that there was no snow on the tree trunk upon which I sat. As I sat there I realized that within a radius of 100 feet or so from where I sat, the snow had completely stopped, yet beyond the 100 foot radius the snow continued to fall steadily. As I sat there I felt the strong presence of the Holy Spirit as I began to pray. Roughly five minutes later I heard footsteps approaching me. I turned to see a farmer. The farmer asked, “Do you always make it a habit of wandering onto private property like this, and just help’n yerself to a sit?” I said, “I do when I sense the presence of the Lord on the property.” The farmer replied (and with a big smile),“The Lord moves in mysterious ways on my land. There can be storms a blaze’n ever which a way, and lightnin’ poppin’ ever where’s, and yet right in this spot, it can be as still and quiet as a baby lamb. Many folks around here have been spooked by this stuff. But I’ve always known it to be the Lord. This patch a land is blessed, I think you know that.”
The farmer left me alone to pray for a good hour that day. A week later I returned to the farm with a few friends, who had to experience the phenomenon for themselves. They were not disappointed.
Following the experience on the farm near Chillicothe, and as the months marched into Spring of 1991, I carried a growing heaviness on my heart for the healing of farming families through “the heartland.” During this period I pulled into a gas station on one occasion, and as I fueled my car, I noticed a sticker on the fuel pump which read, “10% Ethanol.” As I read the sticker, I felt the unmistakable presence of the Holy Spirit at this gas pump. In a fraction of second, I received a flash-back of the experience with the massive corn field in the Autumn of 1990, as well as the vision of the hearts over the abandoned farms just a few months prior. I knew without question at this moment, that “Ethanol” had something to do with this mysterious revelatory equation. Within a few days, I discovered that Ethanol was fuel—produced from corn.
As I pieced together the components of this revelatory puzzle, I concluded that the Lord’s plan was to heal the broken hearts associated with many lifeless farms I had seen. He sought to do so by providing a means by which 10s of 1000s of farmers could resume their “first love” of farming, by growing corn in response to increased demand for Ethanol; and that as a means of freeing the entire country of dependence upon foreign crude oil. He sought to heal their land, our land.
Within months, and into the Summer of 1991, I began to share this revelation with friends far and wide. Uniformly, their expressions resembled the way a dog tilts its head when it is trying to understand the human language. After receiving blank stares repeatedly, I eventually fell into believing that I had lost touch with reality. What do I know about agriculture? What do I know about economics? What do I know about chemical engineering? What do I know about politics? And what do I know about farming?
Not much.
As time marched forward, and as I continued to keep my early morning quiet-times as the central focus of my life, layer upon layer of new revelation of many other facets of the Holy Spirit’s ebb and flow in my life and in my region began to overshadow my fading theory of Ethanol. By the late 1990’s, my mention of this theory happened only occasionally. Each time I did so, I continued to receive the tilted-dog-face response. And with each tilted-dog-face response, I felt more foolish for revisiting the theory.
In early 2003 I met a distinguished professor of economics. He had enjoyed a stint in the U.S. Navy as had I, and we quickly found comfortable common ground. I eventually visited my theory of Ethanol. His response was disheartening: “Oh yah, Ethanol. Well, at one time, a politician used the concept of Ethanol to build a platform upon which his campaign was carried for a season. But the idea never matured, and is now a thing of the past. It’ll never happen.”
Following the professor’s statement, I felt very foolish. I was so convinced that I had heard the Lord on this one.
In December of 2005, I wandered into a “TSC” store in my area (Tractor Supply Company). I purchase outdoor wear through this chain, a chain which serves the farming community by supplying feed, farm equipment, farm wear, tools, etc., I stood behind a farmer in the check-out line. He had a large washer and a bolt in his hand. He was apparently attempting to fix a piece of farm equipment, and stopped by the TSC store to find a needed part. As we went to pay for the part, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small amount of change. As he fingered his change, the Holy Spirit spoke a Word of Knowledge to me. In a fraction of a second, and in only the way the Holy Spirit can, He spoke volumes to me about this farmer—who’s name was “John.” He I knew that John’s livelihood had been that of a love of farming, for over 60 years. I knew that John was a forth generation farmer. I knew that mass mechanization, mass industrialization and mass technological innovation had nearly rendered John’s farm obsolete, and had cost him more than 60% of the profits he had once enjoyed as a prosperous farmer. I knew that John’s children had turned their backs on the notion of farming more than 40 years ago. I knew that John’s grandchildren would have no intention of farming. I knew that John’s heart was broken, and that the only family he now felt, was the family represented in the remaining generation of farm animals left on his farm. My heart melted there in the check-out line. It was everything I could do to keep from placing a hand on his shoulder and saying, “Bless you Farmer John.” This was the very man I had seen within the pages of the children’s book I read when I was 6 years old.
As I returned home that evening, I found occasion to watch the news. Within a few moments, I was watching a commercial from the Ford Company. I nearly stopped breathing when I heard these words: “In 2006 we have plans to roll-out 250,000 Ethanol-fueled vehicles.” Wide-eyed and with mouth agape, I said to my wife: “I knew it! I knew it! I’m not crazy! The Lord spoke to me in the early ‘90’s and told me this was going to happen!”
Was the Lord simply telling me that this was going to happen? Or, was He calling me to intercede for the farming families and farming communities that had been broken by the deep and pervasive sadness that accompanied the resignation from the family farm?
Proverbs 8:34 reads: “Blessed is the man who listens to me, watching daily at my gates, waiting at the posts of my doors” (NKJV). The “posts” and “gates” of His “doors,” are the confines of your prayer closet—that secret chamber that only you and the Lord know about; that place wherein you bare your soul; that place whereupon you discover the endless depths of the Father’s Heart for you—His son or daughter. It is also that place where He reveals His heart of restoration for mankind and His heart of restoration for regions and people groups. He does this, that we may be granted the supreme privilege of speaking these things into existence—as His mouthpiece to the nations. For by and through the exercise of just a little bit of contrition before Him, He will often entrust us with “secrets” that far transcend the limits of the rational and finite mind of man.
Proverbs 3:32(b) reads: “His secret counsel is with the upright (NKJV).” Is uprightness an outward display of godliness that convinces “the brethren” that we’re walking in intimacy with the Lord? Or, is uprightness a secret life of contrition, brokenness and humility before the Lord? King David best answers this question throughout the pages of the Psalms. In David’s brokenness, contrition and repentance, God revealed His “secret” heart of restoration for David, and for mankind at large.
Proverbs 28:5(b) reads: “Those who seek the Lord understand all things” (NASB). The context of this verse is that those who seek the Lord can be granted an understanding of the nature of all things. This speaks most pointedly to the Gift of Discernment. Though we may not know definitively why something is, we can, through divine discernment, know the nature of why something is—to include the very nature of God’s heart for restoration in all the affairs of mankind.
It is my firm belief at this point, that it is God’s desire to heal our land in many ways, to specifically include the restoration of lost and failed farms throughout the United States. It is my firm belief that He is answering the cries of many intercessors who have petitioned on behalf of families who have lost farms throughout this country. It is also my belief that most of these families were not so much broken by the loss of a business, but much rather broken by the loss of their love and passion for tilling the soil, caring for livestock, observing God’s masterwork in motion from season to season, and by the forfeiture of the baton that had represented several generations of farmers.
I do believe that now is the time that farmers may be granted a return to their love of working the land, to produce corn to be sold to Ethanol refineries, which will in turn fuel the American economy in ways that far transcends the minds of foremost economists. This will result in sharply decreased dependence upon foreign oil. This cycle, full circle, will free-up this nation to resume the Kingdom-course of proclaiming freedom and liberty to the captives, and to sound the global trumpets which announce the fast approach of God’s coming Kingdom.
I have personally felt called to political awareness, versus political activism. As I observe national and world events unfolding in the news from day to day, I pray for understanding of the nature of “all things.” This said, I do believe that the nature of what I have felt prompted to write in this article, is that of the voice of healing to those who have lost farms due to the heart-wrenching forfeiture of land that had been in the family for generations. I speak to the farmers throughout this country who have weathered unspeakable storms of adversity and loss, and I declare that now is the time to receive the restoration of all things lost. This includes you, Farmer John.
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David Davenport
MustPressOn@gmail.com