Gravel crunched under the tires as we pulled into the small parking lot. I don't even know that you could really even call it a parking lot-- it was more like a little dirt patch right by the road.
The church was adorable- like something off a Christmas card-- traditional white clapboard, the quaint steeple pointed to the sky. It looked like it had been transplanted, amidst all the close-together houses and long-neglected businesses. Everything around it needed paint, and the crisp whiteness of the church looked out of place.
I'll be honest, I wasn't sure what to expect from this tiny little church in this tiny little town.
Don't get me wrong- it's not like rural Iowa is bustling- but what kind of congregation could come out of a one-horse, run down village like this?