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Fw: [ACWDYG ] The Little White Chapel

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  • Allen Parkins
    ... From: achangewilldoyougood@yahoogroups.com Date: 06/18/04 20:20:29 To: achangewilldoyougood@yahoogroups.com Subject: [ACWDYG ] The Little White Chapel The
    Message 1 of 1 , Jun 18, 2004
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      From: achangewilldoyougood@yahoogroups.com

      Date: 06/18/04 20:20:29

      To: achangewilldoyougood@yahoogroups.com

      Subject: [ACWDYG ] The Little White Chapel



      The Little White Chapel

      By Dawn Rambin



      I love to go on road trips. It doesn't matter where.



      One Sunday afternoon, my best friend Evelyn and I decided to drive

      from our hometown of Phoenix, Arizona, to a gem and mineral show a

      couple of hours away. Evelyn was excited about expanding her rock

      collection. I was just thrilled to be heading out on a new

      adventure.



      After a while, we turned onto a deserted stretch of highway and

      passed a large white sign on the side of the road. It stated simply:

      Pause, Rest and Worship.



      "What's that?" Evelyn asked. It was strange to see a sign like that

      in the middle of nowhere. What did it mean?



      About a quarter mile down the road, we spotted a small white chapel

      sitting by itself in a field. As we drove past, we wondered: Who

      would build this tiny church out here - and why? We turned the truck

      around to find out.



      As we started down the dusty trail and got closer, we noticed how

      small it really was. It wasn't much bigger than a playhouse, maybe

      eight feet across and twelve feet deep. There were little flowers

      planted around the outside and a little white cross was perched on

      top. There wasn't a sign or any literature telling us what it was

      called or describing its history. Was it in fact a church? Were we

      on private property? Should we be here? Would it be all right if we

      went inside?



      Cautiously, we got out, looked around and walked toward the chapel's

      tiny door. It was open. We stepped inside.



      There were four wooden pews, each would seat two people. I sat

      down. As I admired the simplicity and the beauty of the little

      chapel, I beheld its beautiful stained glass windows. A sense of

      profound calm came over me. All was quiet. Still. Peace.



      I noticed a plaque hanging on the front wall. I got up and walked

      toward it. It was from the man who had built the chapel.



      This was his farm. He had built this chapel to celebrate all of the

      many blessings that God had given him in his life. He had lived a

      very long and happy life, blessed with a wonderful wife, many healthy

      children and a farm where he had worked and lived.



      On the altar at the front of the chapel lay a guest book with its

      pages open. Written at the top was a note: "Rest, pray, enjoy the

      chapel. Stay as long as you like."



      As I turned the pages, I noticed the countries: Japan, Israel,

      France, Brazil .. . . people from all over the world had found their

      way to this little white chapel.



      I looked around for a place to leave a donation. There wasn't one.

      This man just wanted to share his special place with strangers who

      might need a brief respite on their long journey.



      It has now been two years since my visit to the little chapel, and

      this is my first Christmas without my mother. I lost her last year

      to heart failure. We were very close and I miss her so very much.



      As I was out shopping for presents, I suddenly stopped and the

      reality sunk in. Mom wasn't going to be here to get her present this

      year. She wasn't going to help me cook the turkey. She wasn't going

      to look across the table and smile at me as if to say everything

      would be all right.



      I wanted to see her face when she opened up her gift. I wanted to

      cook with her and receive her warm smile. For the first time, I

      would spend this holiday without my mother, and it would be that way

      for the rest of my life. I was feeling very alone and wasn't sure

      how I was going to make it through the season.



      At that moment, I looked up and right in front of me, on a display

      table, stood a small white ceramic chapel.



      Immediately, I was taken back to my little white chapel in the dusty

      desert. Once again, I could feel the peace of its refuge, the

      strength of its love. I recalled the man who had built it out of

      gratitude for life's blessings, and then I remembered my own life's

      blessings. Suddenly, I felt myself smiling my mother's smile, and

      like the little chapel, I know that she, too, would always be there

      with me on my journey through life.









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