The little white church in my small town has just a handful of members now. It has, however, miraculously managed to keep its doors open. Many of the small churches around here have long been shuttered. A few have been lucky enough to find a second life as office space or storage.
It’s sad when a small, local church is lost; its congregation absorbed into the bigger churches closer to town. Not only do you lose all that history, but you also lose the sense of a small community. Small communities were the backbone of this country. Now the general consensus is that bigger is better.
I love the small town in which I live. It’s a place where you feel safe and have a sense of belonging. Where you can count on your neighbor to help when you need some extra hands during hay season or when all of your cows are in the middle of the road at 2am because the gate to the pasture was left open. It’s a place where you can ride your four-wheeler to the post office or go skating on your neighbor’s homemade ice rink. It’s a place that I call home and am very happy never to leave.