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 seating 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 the many blessings 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.
Evelyn and I looked at each other, and we knew we were guided by God to find this treasure.
And so, we did what we were meant to do.
We stayed a while. We prayed. We found profound rest.
And then, after signing the guest book, like so many others, we went on our way.