The Little White Church

Last week, I was driving through the rural countryside of Southern North Carolina in a beautiful thunderstorm. Warm, heavy rain pounded down as I passed misty rivers and wet, green meadows.

On the shoulder of the highway, atop a slight hill, I saw a little white church with a red door.

I pulled my car up the grassy drive and left it running while I got out to take some quick pictures.

It sat just inside the small clearing; tall trees surrounded the church.

As I walked across the squishy ground, my mind jumped to spooky ideas about abandoned churches and graves on the edge of the woods.

I told myself not to think like that!

 (it was the kind of place where you could really freak yourself out if you got jumpy)

Instead, I thought of it more as somebody's special place.

Headstones guarded the sides and rear of the building.

Some of the people buried here died in the late 1800s.

Most of the graves were families, lying together.

The Ledbetter family had a private, fenced-off lot in the back corner behind the church.

I peeked in the window and saw a simple room with dusty pews inside.

What a beautiful special little church to come upon in the rain.

I like to think that every Sunday, it's full of people showin up for service.

That it's a happy place

with a red door.