Before the coffee finishes dripping…
Before the gravel crunches under Sunday shoes…
Before the first note of a hymn finds its way through an open door…

There it is.

The steeple.

Standing tall against a Carolina sky that’s just beginning to wake up…
Rising above pecan trees, cornfields, and two lane roads that know your name better than any map ever could.

You don’t have to be looking for it.
You don’t even have to be thinking about it.

It finds you anyway.

Because that’s what a steeple was meant to do.

Church steeples weren’t built for decoration.
They weren’t built to impress.

They were built to point.

Straight up.
No confusion. No hesitation.

A quiet finger in the sky saying, “There. Don’t forget.”

Back when roads were dirt and time moved a little slower… folks didn’t need directions to find their way on a Sunday morning.

They didn’t need an address.

They just needed a glimpse of that steeple breaking through the trees…
Catching the light just right…
Standing there like it had been waiting on them all week.

And in a way… it had.

Because life has a way of pulling us down low.
Into worries that feel bigger than they should…
Into days that stack up heavy on our shoulders…
Into weeks where we forget to look up at all.

So they built something you couldn’t ignore.

Something taller than your troubles.
Something steady when everything else felt like it was shifting.
Something that didn’t move… even when you did.

A steeple doesn’t chase you.
It doesn’t shout.

It just stands there.

Faithful.

Through storms that bend trees sideways…
Through summers that bake the paint right off the wood…
Through generations that come and go, leaving behind laughter, tears, and worn pews that still remember.

That steeple has seen first Sundays… and last goodbyes.
Weddings where hands trembled just a little…
Funerals where hearts did the same.

It’s watched babies be carried in…
And elders be carried out.

And through all of it… it keeps pointing.

Not to itself.

But beyond.

To something higher than a building…
Higher than a sermon…
Higher than the noise we carry around Monday through Saturday.

It points to hope.

To grace.

To the simple truth that no matter how far you’ve wandered…
How busy you’ve been…
How long it’s been since you last walked through those doors…

You’re not out of sight.

And you’re not out of reach.

That there is still something above it all.

Something steady.

Something waiting.

So on a morning like this…
When the air feels just a little softer…
When the light hits different…
When the world hasn’t quite sped up yet…

You might catch yourself noticing it again.

That steeple.

Still standing.
Still pointing.
Still doing exactly what it was built to do.

And maybe… just maybe…

You’ll look up.

And remember.

You don’t have to walk this world alone.

Fairfield Methodist Church • 1877

Fairfield, North Carolina • Hyde County NC

Image taken July 20th 2024 copywrite @thestateyourein

NO USE WITHOUT PERMISSION