Once Upon a Sunday-a Mostly True Tale

by Donna Poole

Pick a pew and sit a spell. Any pew will do since it’s just you and me here, though you might hear me better if you come close to the front. I have the soft voice of an old man, and I’ve earned it. I’m an old country church, and I’ve sat on the corner of these two dirt roads for more years than I can remember. I could tell you hundreds of stories that would make you laugh and cry, but I’ll tell you just one today, the tale of Once upon a Sunday, last Sunday to be exact.

So you’ll understand, I’ll have to give you a bit of background. You stop me if I get to rambling, now, you hear? We old churches do that when we’ve a story to tell. I won’t go back to my beginnings; that might take more time than you have years left on this green earth! I’ll just start back fifty years or so. While I talk, you look out that window, and watch the corn grow tall.

Fifty years ago, I was a tiny building, even smaller than I am now, six half pews on each side, and no indoor bathroom. But people came and filled the pews until they needed more room, and they added onto me, bit by bit. Even got fancy enough for one indoor bathroom, then two. Next came a few Sunday school rooms. For years the young pastor, and his young wife, and the people dreamed of building a fellowship hall, but there was no money, and they agreed they wouldn’t borrow any.

As you can tell sitting here, I’m still not a big church, though I’m a lot larger than I once was. I’m still what I was made to be, a plain white church on the corner of two dirt roads. I can’t offer all the programs big churches can. People who come here get simple preaching without many frills, but they also get love, laughter, and prayer. These people can pray! And they prayed for a fellowship hall for many, many years.

How many years, you ask? Enough years that the young pastor and his wife grew old. But then, one wonderful day, they had groundbreaking Sunday and began building the fellowship hall that’s attached to me now. You’ll have to go look at it when I finish my story. Don’t get fidgety now, it’s a good story, and I’m getting to it! It took some time for the building to go up, but God provided that money in miraculous ways and it didn’t all come from the small congregation who sits in my pews on Sundays.

The fellowship hall is a wonderful place now, though it’s still not done. It has two bathrooms, some Sunday school rooms, a large open area, and a kitchen. The kitchen doesn’t have a stove, sink, or running water yet. Floors still need to be finished. I won’t bore you with the list of work still needed, but like I said, it will happen as the money comes in.

Not long ago the old pastor’s wife was walking out to her car through the fellowship hall with Reece, her tall, young grandson. Handsome too, or so she says. You know grandmas!

“This fellowship hall will get finished,” she told him. “Maybe even in my lifetime! And the money doesn’t have to come from people in this church. Do you know that song, “He owns the cattle on a thousand hills, The wealth in every mine; He owns the rivers and the rocks and rills, The sun and stars that shine?”

Reece shook his head.

“It’s an old song, but true,” she told him. “God owns all the cattle on all the hills, and I’m asking him to sell a couple of cows and send us the money!”

They laughed, and Reece said, “I know God can send the money!”

She whispered a prayer, “Please, Lord, sell those cows! He’s so young, and his faith is so strong.”

Money trickled in, but then something unexpected happened. It always does, doesn’t it? My roof needed repair, and it was going to wipe out a lot of the building fund. I felt bad.

The pastor and wife sighed but didn’t despair. Some old friends called them soon after they got the news about the roof just to catch up on life. Like they always did, the friends asked about their health, the church, and the progress on the fellowship hall.

“We’re going to have to put the fellowship hall on hold for a bit,” the old pastor said.

“Why is that, John?” the friend asked.

He listened to the story of the buckling roof. “How much do you suppose something like that would cost?”

“They say about five thousand dollars.”

The conversation continued with love shared as it always does with those four friends.

A few days later the pastor and his wife got a note from their friends. That wasn’t unusual. They’d gotten many notes over the years and treasured each one. As they read it, a check slipped out. They looked at it with disbelief. Then came tears. And joy, so much joy—they could hardly wait for Sunday.

I should say something here. I’m just an old church, but I know things. I listen. Those friends are not rich people, far from it.

Sunday finally came. The pastor’s son led the singing. He said, “Board and business meetings aren’t my favorite, but I think we’re all going to like this business meeting.”

The pastor stood. He told the people about the need for the new roof. He said, “I was going to have to ask you to vote to take five-thousand dollars out of the building fund to pay for the roof, but now I don’t have to ask you to do that. A dear friend of mine sent a check designated for the roof. It’s for exactly five thousand dollars. Not only that but a couple who often sends money to the church sent some this week, and instead of taking money out of the building fund, we have some to put into it!”

The pastor stepped down from the pulpit. “The check was made out in my name, so I direct deposited it into the church account. Here’s the receipt.”

He handed it to the treasurer. The treasurer handed him the hymn book. “Can we sing this song?”

The pastor’s son led the congregation in, “God is is so good… He answers prayer.”

And the people in this old church said, “Praise God,” and “Amen!” and “Hallelujah!”

The old pastor’s wife couldn’t say anything though. She was crying.

It was a good, good, day. Sometimes it’s a blessing to be a small church on the corner of two dirt roads. Five thousand dollars wouldn’t mean much to a big church in town. I know. I’m just a country church, but I hear things. But to those of us here it meant everything.

Praise God indeed!

That night the old pastor was almost sleeping when his wife woke him. She has a very bad habit of doing that.

“Honey,” she said. “Our dear, dear friends. How I pray God will bless them for giving that money. But I didn’t even know they had any cows!”

“Huh?” he muttered.

“Never mind, go back to sleep.”

And he did. But she stayed awake for a while, talking to God. Sometimes, you’re just too happy to sleep, and that happened once upon a Sunday while outside the windows the corn grew tall.

You’ve been a great listener. You should go now and look at the fellowship hall God is building. And when you walk through it, remember to say, “Praise God,” and “Amen!” and “Hallelujah!”

The end

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These blogs are now available in book form on Amazon:

Backroad Ramblings Volume One: Stories of Faith, Love, and Laughter

Backroad Ramblings Volume Two: Stories of Faith, Love, and Laughter

Backroad Ramblings Volume Three: Stories of Faith, Love, and Laughter

Backroad Ramblings Volume Four: Stories of Faith, Love, and Laughter