The Pigpen

7/27/2019 The Pigpen

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"WHERE O WHERE HAS MY PRODIGAL GONE?"

There is seldom a time, when sharing good news about positive contact between a stander and aprodigal, that Charlyne and I do not think about those men and women who do not even know wheretheir spouse can be found. Some of the more faithful standers we know have had no contact with theirspouse for years, yet they continue to stand firm.

It is a fact that many spouses who walk out on their mates somehow end up in Florida during theirfutile attempt to start over. We have yet to find out why our area becomes the pigpen of life forprodigals from all across the nation.

What makes pigpens so distasteful that Jesus used one to illustrate the parable of the prodigal son?What is a pigpen really like? Who are the people who feed the pigs? I asked around, and discoveredthat the county where we live has no pigpens. They have all been closed and the property used for newhousing.

I packed the van and left home on a short trip, looking to see what a pigpen is really like. Surely theyhad pigpens in the dairy and farming areas of central Florida. I intended to ask around until I foundone. I left home, unsure exactly what I was searching for.

I left Florida's turnpike at Yeehaw Junction and headed west on highway 60 toward Tampa. Surelythere would be pigpens along this agricultural highway. I saw field after field of cows, groves of orangetrees, but no pigpens.

I stopped at a country gas station located between nowhere and somewhere, and soon discovered thestrange looks one gets when asking for a pigpen. The easier way, I was about to learn, was to simplysay that I needed a photo of a pigpen. But no one knew where I could find a pigpen.

One man suggested a petting zoo some distance away that might have a pig. That was not exactly whatI was looking for. Our prodigals all attempt to make their new lives work out in their own sanitizedversion of a petting zoo. Charlyne and I know all about those. On this trip, I was searching for the kindof pigpen about which our Lord was relating. What conditions did the prodigal son live under? Whatwere the husks like that he had for his only source of food?

Standing beside the highway, talking to a hunter, I thought once again about standers who do not know


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where their prodigal's pigpen is located. If you are praying and standing for a prodigal spouse, and theLord has allowed you to know where the "pigpen" is located, thank God, and remember to pray forthose who do not know what is happening in their absent mate's life.

Thus far, my travel had not taken me by the first pigpen. I had taken roads that I assumed would easilytake me by places where hogs are raised, but not thus far. As I ate dinner that night, I planned out how Iwould travel on to Tampa that next day. Walking back to my room, I passed by the motel's lounge, withits door propped open. Suddenly, the boisterous talk, exaggerated laughter, loud music, and clankingglasses carried me back to 1986. As the stench of stale smoke hit me, I asked myself how I could haveever participated in that scene, and thought I was happy, especially while I had a praying wife, standingwith God for my return from the "far country."

"Son," the Lord seemed to be reminding me, "You have just found your pigpen." I stood by that opendoor for just a second, and prayed for the men and women who were attempting to find happiness inthere.

For the next 24 hours, each time I passed a modern day pigpen, the Lord seemed to be reminding me,"You wanted to see pigpens. Here they are." Father, may all of our standers, and their prodigals,recognize pigpens when they see them, and remember to stay out, because they can be dangerous.

Saturday mornings are one of my favorite times to travel. The area of central Florida, known as"Florida's Heartland," is one of my favorite places to travel. At breakfast in Sebring, the man at the nexttable told we where I might find a pigpen.

I followed my new friend's instructions and left the highway in Lorida (No, that is not misspelled. Thesmall community is named Florida, without the "F"). I drove ten miles in one direction, turned left anddrove ten miles in another, and found my destination. They had plenty of dairy cows, but no pigs.

Back on the highway, I saw two men talking in front of a feed store and asked them about pigpens."Naw, I don't think anybody has pigpens here any more," one reported, while spitting tobacco juiceonto the unpaved parking lot. The bumper stickers on his pickup truck would indicate otherwise. Atleast in a spiritual sense, someone was tending pigs in Lorida.

"What about the crazy man?" one asked the other. "He raises pigs." That was not exactly what I hadwanted to hear, but I would give it a try. I was given directions and sent to find a pigpen. I left the


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pavement once again and drove down another dirt road. The ceramic pig on the mailbox indicated that Iwas at the right place. On one side of the driveway, a sign read WELCOME. On the opposite side Iread "KEEP OUT-GUARD DOGS." Since prodigals are doubled minded, I knew this had to be theplace.

Off in the distance a woman was raking. I handled the situation like any city slicker and blew the horn.She stopped raking and stared at me for the longest while. Finally a man appeared and motioned me todrive in. When I pulled up to him, I could see why he had been given that name at the feed store. Hewas filthy and wild-eyed. This man had not yet "come to his senses."

"You have pigs?" I asked, without getting out of the van. He screamed something that I could notunderstand toward the small building behind me. The woman continued to stare.

"Lord," I wondered, "am I safe here? Please let me drive out of here." Another man, dressed in filthyrags, came out of that building, with two piglets following him. I had finally found my pigpen.

"You wanna pig?" He asked in broken English.

I passed him a ministry card and attempted to explain that I did not want to buy a pig, but wanted to seewhere they were raised. I have come home from trips with some strange objects, but suspected thatCharlyne would draw the line at bringing home a pig.

"No! No pictures!" the man screamed at me. "We are ..," and he named the largest cult in America. "Mywife knows about God for us. No pictures!" I was relieved that I would not have to shut off the van andget out into the mess that I observed. I thanked the man, quickly turned around, and headed back forcivilization.

Once back on the asphalt road, I opened the windows to get the stench out of the van. Debris from thepig farm "pinged" against the van, as it was being thrown from the tires. Although I would not havewanted to take pictures at that pig farm, I had to wonder if that was not what Jesus was talking about inLuke 15. The cult that the pig farmer mentioned made me bristle (excuse the expression), but was thatfar removed from the Jewish prodigal son associating with pigs? There was no way that man couldhave been cleaned up in a long while. How could the wife who did not talk prepare meals in thosesurroundings? Even the welcome/keep out signs at the entrance reminded me of double-mindedprodigals.


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I passed scores of abandoned pigpens. Someone had given up raising pigs at each of them. Stopping to

make a picture, I thought about the pigpen that I had left to come home to my family. Did you realizethat the Lord could touch even that "crazy man" in an instant, clean him up, both inside and out, andput him out of the pig business? He can do the same for your prodigal; regardless of the filth the oneyou love is now living in.

Our Lord God can change a man or woman from raising pigs to raising praise. Thoughts can go fromsausage to salvation, from meat to ministry, from ham to heaven, in an instant. It only takes a touchfrom on high, in response to your prayers.

I wish you had been sitting in the seat beside me to witness that pig farmer. I would have reminded youof the hope that God has for your prodigal mate, off living in a pigpen, regardless of what you areseeing or hearing today.

Saturday afternoon, I turned left at the three large crosses in the cow field onto Martin County Highway312. Seven miles ahead was my destination, Dunklin Memorial Camp, a Christian training center andalcohol rehabilitation center. That ministry, founded years ago by Reverend Mickey Evans, takes menfrom the pigpen of alcoholism and introduces them to Jesus Christ. Their work is carried out on aranch, where cattle are raised.

"Pigs? Sure, we have a couple hundred-head back there. Want to see them?" one of the staff inDunklin's office asked. Soon he and I were in the van, riding down the dirt road, on the way to thepigpen.


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For the first time in years, I was finally standing at a pig farm. How appropriate that the Lord broughtme to Dunklin to discover how pigs live. There is no way to imagine how many marriages have beensalvaged down through the years, as Jesus brought men through these pigpens on the way out of the

emotional pigpen where satan had taken them. May there be a "Mickey Evans" there for your prodigalmate when the Lord has everything ready.

I had been invited to stay over for a concert that evening. Families of the men at Dunklin are invited infor the weekends and special activities planned for them. I pulled out the laptop and set up "shop"under a pavilion. I soon found myself watching all that was happening at Dunklin more than I waswriting.

Across the way was a playground. A man was spinning his two small daughters on a merry-go- round.They were shrieking like pigs, as both called out, "Faster daddy! Faster." He spun them faster andfaster. That man's only addiction seemed to be to making his daughters happy. I watched the familieswalking by. It was interesting that while many of the men were holding hands with their wives, thechildren were the center of attention. Guys, I understand the guilt we deal with for what we have putour children through, but thank God, you and I have come up out of the pigpens of life. God willforgive us, once we have made things right with Him.

A sweet aroma filled the air. Across the way, a group of men were sitting around huge barrel-shapedoutdoor cookers. Since everyone stops and talks at Dunklin, it was not difficult to find out what washappening. Three wild hogs were being roasted for a barbecue before the concert that evening. I left fortown to have dinner before anyone could ask me to eat there. My visit to the pigpen was just too recentfor pork to sound good to me.

During the twenty-mile drive to the nearest restaurant, I wondered how that meat would have tasted. Isuspect that it would have been delicious, served with the fresh corn that was being placed on the grill.It seemed impossible that something that good could have come out of those pigpens.

It may seem impossible that anything good could ever come out of your prodigal's pigpen experience.Those hogs had been roasting for hour upon hour. God may be "roasting" the one you love for a longwhile, but just as those guys at Dunklin did not give up, you stand firm that God has a plan and apurpose in what is happening now. Be sure to "baste" your slow process of restoration with plenty ofprayer to keep it from drying out along the way. Keep your fire ablaze with time spent with the Lordand in His Word.

That evening, a group of ten young people from north Florida put on a gospel concert. I sat in a woodenrocking chair in the back of Dunklin's Tabernacle, between Mickey and the grandpa of most of that


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group. We were three blessed men.

It was interesting to watch the Dunklin families in front of us. One man balanced a child on each knee,while he rocked an infant in the carrier on the floor with his foot. During a song titled, "I Want to beJust Like You," one man moved back a row and gave his brother-in-law a hug. Thank God for familieswho do not give up on prodigals. I saw smiling moms, beaming wives, and happy children thatevening, all because prodigal sons, husbands, and daddies had "come to their senses."

Late Saturday night, on the drive home, with bugs by the score hitting my windshield, I had onequestion. If any of the men I had seen that evening had five minutes to talk to your prodigal, whatwould they say? I am confident that the one you love would be told plain and simple that life in thepigpen is not worth the price that must be paid. The men I had observed had come home, and familieswere rejoicing.

Where O where has your prodigal gone? You may not have any idea, but the one you love cannotescape the hand of Almighty God. On this journey, I saw pigpens of sin. I viewed actual pigpens. I also

saw the results of changed lives when someone is praying. May God bring about the day when yourmate wakes up in the pigpen, comes to his or her senses, and comes home to a standing spouse.


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"But blessed is the man who trusts in the LORD, whose confidence is in him." -Jeremiah 17:7

The Pigpen

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