The Hancock-Henderson Quill, Inc.
By Elaine Slater Reese
I was visiting my sister in Illinois. We passed it every time we drove into town that week in October. It was a beautiful country church nestled in a grove of trees painted in hues of orange, red, and gold. Four feet high rows of antique white bricks were at the base of the structure.
The light chocolate rough vertical boards were a great contrast with the white bricks. Antique white paint at the peak area completed the neatness and simplicity of the building. It looked so inviting a perfect place to slip into, sit alone in a pew, and talk with my Maker.
One day I mentioned how much I liked that church. My sister said, "Do you want to know the story of it?" Certainly! Now someone else would be the storyteller. I listened in amazement. The congregation had survived many years but barely. There were less than thirty people who attended on a regular basis.
For years they had met in a vacant room donated by one of the businessmen in the small town. But they always dreamed, hoped, and believed that some day they would have their own church building.
Then the businessman announced he was going to put his place on the market. They would have no place to worship.
They met and prayed. Old Tom Marks said he had an idea.
"Know that two acres of land along the highway that's belonged to our family for years?
Maybe we could build a new church there.
I will donate the land." Everyone gasped. Build their own curch?
It was all they could do to pay the part-time preacher. But then Sam Evers, who poured concrete and owned a bobcat pitched in.
He could help with the foundation. Little by little, people remembered items they had not used - some new doors, electrical equipment, lumber.
Slowly the dream grew and turned to reality. They vowed not to go into debt. They just couldn't.
One step would lead to another. Always when it seemed they had reached a standstill, someone found new gallons of paint in their basement.
Or some of their friends offered to help the small congregation on the work days. People gave and gave and gave of their time and practical gifts It began to look like a real church.
It took two years, but finally it was almost completed. The last thing they needed was stain for the rough boards above the bricks.
The people's basements and sheds were now empty. They had found ways to use so many of their items that had been stored away.
But the people were exhausted and their finances were totally exhausted.
They were so close to their goal. They met and prayed that God would be gracious once again. After the prayer, Harvey Eldred stood up.
He was dressed as always in the olive cotton pants and shirt covered with dark grease stains.
"Well, you know I ain't got no money. Guess none of you guys do now neither. But I do got an idea.
Behind my garage there's lots of containers of the oil from when I changed the oil in your cars.
You reckon we could use that to stain them there boards?" A soft chuckle went through the room. Then there was silence.
"Maybe, just maybe:" uttered the pastor.
I'm not sure there is a DNR in that area, but even they would have to admit that it's a beautiful country church.
(This is a true story.)