The Little Church that Could

Which is It?

My church sits nestled in the uppermost corner of the Pacific Northwest, in the “land of the nones,” where people are happier worshiping nature than any Divine Being. Once a beautiful, three story, downtown cathedral, our church eventually downsized to a more practical facility on the outskirts of town, as the 1950’s heydays of church gave way to the realities of the postmodern era. Now, as people drive past each weekend, cars loaded down with kayaks and canoes, backpacks and skis, my little church seems to let out a wistful little sigh. If these walls could speak, they just might whisper, “I’m still here!”

In 1975, Millie and Ted Joined the Church

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In 1975, the most astounding thing happened. Millie and Ted moved into our community. Our nice, peaceful community where everything was as it should be. People were friendly, neighbors had neighborhood block parties, took in the mail for one another and watered each others lawns during vacations, dropped in for coffee just because, and followed the “it takes a village” model of child rearing long before Hillary told us we were supposed to be a village.