When I dropped our son off at camp this week, I saw this church and stopped to take pictures. Something about it really called to me. The building is old, falling apart, but yet, I really felt like there was something drawing me to stop and to just enjoy the simple beauty of the building, the sunshine of the day, and the love of God that was still evident in that place. Despite the building, I really felt that the cross still stands!
As I sat and spent time (despite my children asking *what* I was doing just sitting there), I wondered who used to attend this church. I wonder what happened to the church that it was just left to ruin.
Did they preach the love of Jesus? Did generations of families gather on Sunday mornings for a country service? Could you hear the organ across the field on a clear day as it called sinners to come home?
Who is laid in the surrounding resting place? Were these the saints of the original church? Are these more recent losses, laid to rest in the beauty of this place?
If these walls could speak, what stories could they tell? What children came to Jesus? What families were joined together again after losing their way? What wandering soul happened in to hear of the love of Jesus?
I can’t explain the simple beauty of the area. Maybe it was the warmth of the sun; maybe it was my own need to feel close to Jesus as I prepared to leave my child at camp for the week. Whatever it was, I met Jesus for a few minutes on the side of the road. The church may be run down, people may not meet there anymore, but when you love God, you can meet Him anywhere!
Did you notice in the picture, where the wall has crumbled - the cross still stands!
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