We got up around 5:30 and on the road about 6:30 am. Nice traveling weather. It was 9 below zero when we left. Here's to ... hoping the weather warms up as we travel south.
It is 1:30 pm and we just filled up around Wichita, Kansas.
We entered Texas at 5:50 pm. Denny has driven all the way. 11 1/2 hours. 10-11 hours left. 615 miles left. Denny is such a trooper driving thru Ft. Worth area. May the caffeine be with you.
Note to self ... When the google map shows a red line on the road you are going to take ... it just may be that the traffic is slow to stopped. Uffta!!! but do-able. 6:54 pm ... just imagine rush hour. Uffta!! Not me ...Not fun. 7:20 and we breath easier and have a Tieffentaler meat stick. Reward for making it. Only one real wrong turn, but the blue road on the google map brought us back.
We stopped at San Marco about 10:45 pm and stayed at a Motel 6. Questionable. I was really worried when I looked out in the morning and did not see the Prius where we had parked it. UFFTA!! But Denny had moved it when he went out to get our pillows. Thank you, Jesus. (The bed in the room did not have pillows. Questionable. )
Leaving home in Iowa 6:30 am: 1280 miles left
Arriving in Texas 5:50 pm: 615 miles left
This morning the Cooks sent a picture of Jack. So cute. I guess the plan is to put him in his Comfy Coop vehicle in the morning after he is fed and drive him from room to room as they get ready to go to work. A Guy And His Wheels ...
Phillip's grandpa Phillip died on December 21, The funeral was Dec. 26.
This was Phillip's tribute:
“The Farm,” Grandpa Phil’s Funeral (December 27, 2017)
Faith Community Church
Palmer, Iowa
I’ve been thinking of this question, “What is The Farm?”
Well, first and obviously, it is a farm in the way that many farms exist across Iowa and the
Midwest. It is a farm - and perhaps a fairly typical farm in form and function and appearance.
But, what has made, the Phil Brinkman farm in section 19 of Garfield Township in Pocahontas
County, Iowa not just a farm but, The Farm?
The Farm, to so many, including my Grandpa Phil
and Grandma Bette’s many grandchildren. Including me.
Was it the fun of hooting and hollering along with Grandpa during an Iowa State basketball
game? Of big bowls of popcorn and Lawrence Welk on Saturday nights?
Was it the thrill of Grandpa’s childlike and mischievous not-so-subtle hints towards the
possibility of dessert near the end of a meal?
Was it, those deeper memories now, of being put to work by Grandpa? Bedding calf huts,
baling hay, picking up walnuts, moving sheep, or whatever else he could think of? Was it the
fact that, after any job, he paid for it immediately - never allowing a day to pass before settling
his account? Even with his grandchildren?
Was it the way that Grandpa guarded and defended Grandma’s dignity? By insisting that when
a meal is declared ready you drop your work or play immediately and head to the table; by
presiding over the table with a subtle bearing and dignity of his own and asking someone to say
“Grace;” by being the chief washer-of-dishes for many years now; by unfailingly praying in his
own mealtime prayers that the Lord would, “bless the hands of those who have prepared it.”?
Words invariably meant to bless his wife.
Was it the kindness of their kitchen - together one - in their heart open to receiving in love all
who gathered there? Grandpa and Grandma were different from each other - but kind of like
different sides to the same coin, or better, the cardinal and gold of their beloved Cyclones. You
were received into their home as they together made room in the most pure and simple -
unpretentious love.
There is more. Much more. This is just my own start. But, it’s beginning to become clear to me
that there is no exhaustive answer to the question, “What is the Farm?” I’m inclined to think all
the more that - that question - may take a lifetime (and perhaps much more) to answer.
See, my Grandpa Phil and Grandma Bette have cultivated a place - The Farm - that in all its
Goodness, Truth, and Beauty does nothing less than stand as an outpost along the way to the
Kingdom of Heaven.
Of course, they had no such grandiose intentions - and have never thought of their place in
these terms. But, their self-forgetfulness and humility is also no small part of why it’s true.
And, as we who have been so fortunate as to find refuge on The Farm know so well, we have
had hearts formed towards The Good, the True, and The Beautiful there.
That we would long for unbroken marriages of a determined and quiet fidelity. That we would
pursue education and an endlessly curious and attentive mind. That we would desire satisfying
and meaningful work - done well and with integrity. That we would imagine homes of safety and
refuge for others in our own homes.
Grandpa Phil and Grandma Bette together have nurtured and cultivated a place where we have
come to desire these things - not just in our minds. But in our hearts. We have found refuge
and a deep formation towards the Good, True, and Beautiful in this place that they have made
together.
And it would be easy to end here...and so many stories do. But we have to go a step further in
the story of my grandparents to tell it rightly. To stop here would be to stop short of telling the
truth.
The truth is that the profound refuge and deep formation that we experienced at The Farm was
because Jesus was always a guest there as well. Without Jesus, The Farm, would simply be a
farm.
And so, with the writer of Hebrews, Grandpa and Grandma have known this to be true:
...having acknowledged that they were strangers and exiles on the earth. For people
who speak thus make it clear that they are seeking a homeland. If they had been
thinking of that land from which they had gone out, they would have had opportunity to
return. But, as it is, they desire a better country, that is, a heavenly one. Therefore, God
is not ashamed to be called their God, for he has prepared for them a city.
It’s not The Farm. It’s what The Farm points to. In The Farm Grandpa Phil and Grandma Bette
have been pointing us towards that homeland. And for that so many of us will be forever - no,
eternally - grateful.
The Brinkman family had a tradition of extending down the road and waving as family/friends leave the farm. When the funeral procession went past the farm before going to the cemetery, the cousins all got out of their cars and waved goodbye to G'pa. He is missed...
