A few days ago, Jan 6, 2022, the Wicker story rose up again. If you’re not familiar with Part 1, it’s here on this website. You probably should read it before continuing with Part 2.
I had been out shopping in a neighboring city, about 45 minutes from my home town, and had finished for the time being. It was early afternoon, and I was out driving alone, and I didn’t feel like just going home; I like to drive, particularly alone, as it gives me a chance to think, to pray, to just enjoy the scenery, whatever. I decided to take a slightly longer way home, which, as it happened, would take me past the village where the old schoolhouse-turned-furniture store was. I was aware that the store was no longer there, but the building was there, so as I approached the village, I decided to stop and look at the old schoolhouse again.
Now, the original “burning bush” experience was still fresh in my mind; it pops up every now and again, but the last thing I expected on this day was any sort of repeat. You’ll recall that Part 1 took place nearly forty years ago, and I could make little sense of it then; now I’m an old man, and chasing burning bushes has a lot less appeal than it used to.
Ordinarily, I would probably have started this paragraph with: “A thought crossed my mind…”, but that’s not exactly what happened. The thought was a question, and it crossed my mind in the same way a Greyhound Bus might cross a squirrel’s mind. Which is to say, impossible to ignore.
“Father, what shall we do with this building?”
That was the question. It hung in the air, taking up all the space in the car. I knew that before many minutes had passed, I was going to have to ask the question, out loud, and that soon, there would be an answer. You can’t imagine how I wished I had taken the shorter way home.
I pulled up to the front of the schoolhouse, well remembering that the only time I had been inside I ‘felt’ the heart of the old school, grieving for its lost identity and purpose; it was a school that was existing against its will as a marketplace for furniture. Finally, I could hold out no longer. “Father,” I said, “what shall we do with this building?” And I began to weep. The tangible presence of the Lord does that to me.
Oh, I thought about many things that could be done with a building like that. The facility itself was in good shape; it had been built in 1930, through the front doors you can see that there is a gymnasium in the basement, and probably a kitchen/cafeteria as well. Any minister of the Gospel would love a headquarters like this; offices, studio space for recording podcasts or videos, lectures, seminars, etc. One thing was clear to me, though, based on my personal history: we must make this building happy again. And that means a school.
So what am I to do with the former wicker furniture store? No idea. Seriously.
What am I doing while waiting for clarity? Plenty. Much prayer (including praise and worship), talking to friends, ministers, looking for people like myself who can get a vision for this project, folks who can form a prayer team to support the idea, hold one another accountable, and stay alert. Our next step could show up at any moment; our ears must be open at all times.
Sound like fun? Roll up your sleeves. There’s work to be done.
David L Henderson,
2/12/2022
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