This was originally written shortly after I moved to Yuma. This little church got destroyed during that really bad storm a month or two ago–I really hope they are able to rebuild it.
I didn’t expect to find any beauty here in Yuma. I knew that living here was the right thing to do, and I never questioned my decision to come here from “America’s Finest City,” but the truth is, I never thought to see anything but cactus and dust, especially at work.
The funny thing is, it actually ended up being beautiful here. Driving to work in the springtime or just before a harvest is incredible. There are huge verdant fields on either side of 95, and they extend for acres. I have no idea what some of the crops are, but there is no denying the beauty of the fields.
Right in the middle of one a few miles down from KFR where I work, there’s a narrow dirt road that leads to a tiny church in the middle of the field. It makes no sense that it’s there, but it is. And when I say tiny, I mean that this building is about the size of a very small house. But it’s complete with a steeple and a clean white paint job. I have not yet stopped there, but I plan to soon. There’s a sign near the road that entreats the reader to
That sounds good to me. It’s a very long day here. Ten hours for now, but depending on where I am eventually assigned, it could be as many as six ten hour days, and possibly twelve or fourteen hour days on occasion.
Pause. Rest. Worship. I believe I will, at least I plan to as soon as I get the chance.
It turned out that my chance came just a couple of weeks later, when I got off work early. I drove slowly down the dirt road and parked just in front of the little church. I half expected the door to be locked, but it swung wide at my touch.
It was extremely hot in the little sanctuary, but the air was thick with both promise, and the Holy Spirit.
I didn’t spend a lot of time in the church–just enough to read the clippings on the wall, and sit in one of the small pews and pray for a couple minutes. I’d like to bring Jenny and David there at some point. There was just something about that place that struck a chord in me–something about the devotion of the man that built it. I think he would have been a good person to know. He may even still be alive for all I know.
Anyway, if you’re going down 95, and you have a few minutes to spare, I encourage you to
Pause. Rest. Worship.
One thought on “Pause. Rest. Worship.”
What a great tribute to this little church Tom. My dad and I have stopped there many times after hiking or shooting out in the desert. There used to be slips of paper and a Bible readily available and people would write down prayers or scriptures and leave them behind for others to read. We had a few left there. I was so sad to see it gone just a few weeks ago. I had no idea it had been destroyed by the storm. While Dominic and I were dating (those short 6 months before getting married) we joked about how cool it would be to be married at that little church. We didn’t, but I’m glad he was able to go there at least once before it was no more. Thanks again for such a great read. I really enjoy reading your stuff.