Country church life – Back Road Ramblings

by Donna Poole

Heaven’s weather must be a lot like a sweet Michigan Sunday in June. Last Sunday was close to perfect. I wish you all could have been here. Our back road ramblings took us where we’ve been driving for almost forty-six years now, the place where two dirt roads meet. We joined the other cars and trucks at our country church.

Some people wandered from car to truck, exchanging greetings; others stayed a safe social distance, but smiles and waves said everything. We were family; we were together once again, and life was good.

It was a cool morning; the sky was a brilliant blue, and white clouds dashed by in the wind. The wind messed with the mic, but our church guys, who can fix anything with baling twine and a coat hanger, weren’t deterred. Someone tied a napkin around the microphone.

John climbed on a hay wagon to begin our church service. He gave each of the younger children a Ziplock bag with a box of crayons, a picture, and a party horn.

“You kids have to help me during the service today,” he told them. They happily agreed.

We sang an old gospel hymn written in 1939 by Eugene Monroe Bartlett. The beautiful hymn goes like this:

I heard an old, old story,

How a Savior came from glory,

How He gave His life on Calvary

To save a wretch like me;

I heard about His groaning,

Of His precious blood’s atoning.

Then I repented of my sins

And won the victory.

Chorus:

O victory in Jesus,

My Savior, forever.

He sought me and bought me

With His redeeming blood;

He loved me ere I knew Him,

And all my love is due Him,

He plunged me to victory,

Beneath the cleansing flood.

I heard about His healing,

Of His cleansing power revealing.

How He made the lame to walk again

And caused the blind to see;

And then I cried, “Dear Jesus,

Come and heal my broken spirit,”

And somehow Jesus came and brought

To me the victory.

Repeat Chorus:

I heard about a mansion

He has built for me in glory.

And I heard about the streets of gold

Beyond the crystal sea;

About the angels singing,

And the old redemption story,

And some sweet day I’ll sing up there

The song of victory.

Repeat Chorus:

Kimmee, like all our church kids, grew up singing hymns in church. Children repeat what they think they hear, so little Kimmee used to sing, loudly, “He punched me to victory,” instead of, “He plunged me to victory.”

I didn’t correct her; I thought it was cute, and besides, sometimes we may need a punch or two. Kimmee’s siblings did correct her, however, and teased her about that mistake for years.

I was glad we were in the car and not in the church auditorium when Kimmee made me laugh halfway through the song. When we got to that line in the chorus “He plunged me to victory,” Kimmee lightly punched my shoulder. I looked at her, and we laughed. But now I can’t laugh without coughing. I barely recovered in time to hear John preach on “The Other Side of Our Obstacles.”

God sometimes punches us to victory in strange ways, and we’re as surprised as the next guy to find ourselves on the other side of our obstacles. If I’d been one of the fighting men who went up against the great walled city of Jericho I might have said to God, “You want me to do what?”

God gave Joshua the strange battle instructions. The men of war, priests carrying the ark of the covenant, and seven priests blowing rams’ horns were to march with him around Jericho. That’s all. Just march.

Just as God said, they marched around the city once a day for six days. The soldiers probably examined the walls each time for the slightest crack, but they saw nothing. The obstacle remained as formidable as ever. Did the soldiers feel vulnerable? Did the people in the city laugh at them? Did the soldiers start to doubt God?

The obstacle looked impossible; the plan to surmount it seemed ridiculous.

John kept telling the story of Jericho on Sunday. “You still listening kids? You ready to practice blowing those horns?”

The kids were only too happy to stick their heads out of their car windows and blow their party horns.

John told us that finally day seven came, the day God said to march around the city seven times. The rams’ horns sounded, and Joshua told the people to shout!

“Blow those horns, kids!” John said. Did they ever!

I was a little disappointed John didn’t tell the rest of us to shout. I wanted to stick my head out of the car window and shout; Kimmee probably did not.

If you’re familiar with the biblical account, you know the rest of the Jericho story; the walls came tumbling down. The impossible obstacle crumbled.

The weapons weren’t the shouts and the horns; the victorious weapon was faith.

Faith will take us to the other side of our obstacles and give us courage to face whatever we find there. Unlike some, we don’t order God to remove obstacles; we don’t demand healing as our right in Christ. We hold our requests up to God and add, “Your will, please. Just your will be done.” We realize that “no” is sometimes an answer. Hey, if God healed everyone, this earth would be a bit overcrowded, wouldn’t it?

At the end of our church service our three wonderful deacons climbed up on the hay wagon and stood next to John. They prayed for me and for my family. My heart filled with love, and tears of joy rolled down my face.

I looked at those beloved men. I blessed our little country church at the corner of two dirt roads; what a privilege it has been to be part of it. I think we have the kindest, sweetest church family anywhere.

Yes, like the old song says, “Some sweet day I’ll sing up there the song of victory.” But for now, I’m just grateful for a bit of heaven on earth, found right here on a sweet Michigan Sunday in June.

by Donna Poole

It was a warm Sunday in May 1974 when Jim first preached at Corners Church in rural Hillsdale County, Michigan. The church was looking for a pastor. Darlene was more nervous than Jim was when they pulled into the dirt parking lot next to the tiny, white frame building. They were early, and as they waited for people to arrive, they looked around. They saw open fields or farmhouses in every direction. Dust flew every time the rare truck or tractor went down the gravel road.

As Jim looked at the old church building, white paint peeling from its sides, he remembered what Professor Nick Machiavelli from Bible college had told the divinity students: “If your first church is small, don’t despise the day of small things, but don’t stay there either. Think of it as the first rung on a ladder and aim always to climb to a place of greater usefulness. Climb higher!”

Jim and the other divinity students almost worshipped Professor Machiavelli who had rugged good looks, prematurely gray hair, and an authoritative voice. A child prodigy, the professor had started college young. Though he had his doctorate, he was only a a few years older than his students. Jim felt there was something almost apostolic about him andkept an entire notebook he’d titled “Machiavelli’s Maxims.” He’d memorized most of the sayings. But, something about the “climb higher” advice made Jim feel uneasy, and he didn’t know why.

Jim mentioned his feelings to Darlene as they sat in the parking lot, but she had other worries. She was expecting their second baby and couldn’t seem to stay awake. She hoped she didn’t fall asleep in Jim’s sermon. Also, April, their daughter, wasn’t quite two, and Darlene was concerned about how she was going to act during a long day filled with strangers. She looked back at their toddler who had blessedly fallen asleep on the long drive. Maybe the nap would help her behave.

Darlene grinned, remembering a story she’d read about a pastor’s wife whose husband was preaching at a church he hoped would hire him. Unlike Darlene, this woman was a fantastic piano player, and she thought it might help her husband’s chances of being called as pastor if she volunteered to play the offertory. She felt apprehensive as she left her three-year-old in the back pew and went up to play her special number.

“Be good until Mommy comes back,” she whispered. He looked at her and nodded, his brown eyes bright, his yellow curls making him look like the angel he wasn’t.

She was into the most impressive part of her offertory when she heard her little boy shout, “Ride ‘em, cowboy!”

Horrified, she glanced back to see him straddling the pew, pretending to ride a horse. She abruptly ended the offertory before the ushers had even half-finished collecting the offering.

She hurried back to her pew, and when her son saw her coming, he hollered, “Giddyup, Old Paint. Faster! Bad guy coming!”

Darlene wondered if their angel would behave while Jim preached. She doubted it.

First impressions matter, and Darlene worried about what the congregation would think of her as a potential pastor’s wife. With her straight hair that hung past her waist, her long skirt, and no paint or polish, she thought she looked more like an ad for a hippie clothing company than a pastor’s wife. She knew she couldn’t measure up to the previous pastor’s wife, but maybe the congregation would like her a little.

Darlene reached over and smoothed Jim’s hair back. He only sat that stiff and straight when he was nervous. She didn’t think it would boost his confidence to tell him he looked more like he was sixteen than twenty-five. His light brown hair insisted on falling on his forehead, and his serious brown eyes looked like a little boy’s expecting a scolding.

A few cars pulled into the parking lot, and Jim, Darlene, and April went into the church. The tiny building was charming with its stained-glass windows, native lumber wainscoting, and bare hardwood floors. Including the three of them, there were fifteen people in the congregation.

Darlene sat quietly, listening to Jim preach, until April whispered, “Potty, potty!”

“Can you wait?”

April shook her head vigorously. Darlene looked around. Where in this tiny building could there possibly be a bathroom?

She tapped an older woman in front of her on the shoulder. “Where’s the bathroom?” she whispered. Darlene sat back in the pew, confused by the answer. Maybe she hadn’t heard correctly.

“You have to wait,” Darlene told April.

“No! Potty! Potty!” April was getting louder.

Darlene touched the older lady on the shoulder again. “Where did you say the bathroom was?”

This time the answer was louder, and there was no mistaking when she said, “Outside and around back.”

The heavy, wooden church door creaked as Darlene tugged it open. Outside and around back she went. She stood there a minute and laughed. The bathroom was an outhouse.

As Darlene and April exited the outhouse, she wondered how they would wash their hands. There was no running water. She felt frustrated for a minute, but as she looked out over the fields, she felt a deep peace. If Jim was sure he wanted to be a preacher, then she hoped God would call them to this church. She already loved the simplicity of this place.

Darlene loved simplicity. So many large churches complicated things and handled church more like a corporation than a ministry.

Darlene agreed with her friend Julie who said, “Churches didn’t get complicated until they got electric lights to show off their stained-glass windows.”

As they went back inside the church, Darlene considered what to do about hand washing. Then she remembered the wet washcloth she’d tucked into the diaper bag. It would have to do. She washed her hands and April’s and hoped that would be the last trip she’d ever have to make to the outhouse. It wasn’t.

Tag: Country church life

Heaven in Michigan is a Sunday in June!

by Donna Poole

Outside and Around Back

by Donna Poole