From the Journals of Clara Whitmore, November 10, 1895 - Walnut, Iowa
This Sabbath day shall remain with me, I believe, for all the years the Lord grants me breath. It felt as though heaven itself bent low over Walnut, touching our little town with a holiness both simple and profound.
I rose early, before the boarding house stirred. The frost on the windowpane glimmered like lace, and the air in my room held the sharp bite of approaching winter. I dressed quickly, pulling on my woolen stockings and buttoning my dark blue Sunday dress, the one with the small ivory buttons Mother stitched on before I left Beatty Creek. Over it I fastened my gray shawl, though I knew the walk to church would still be brisk. Mrs. Harrow had already set the kettle on, and the scent of coffee mingled with the faint sweetness of her molasses bread cooling on the counter.
By the time the church bell rang, the whole town seemed to be moving in one direction…toward the little white church that has become the heart of Walnut. The women wore their warmest cloaks, some trimmed with fur, others plain but neatly mended. The men brushed the dust from their coats and hats, their boots polished for the Lord’s Day. The children, cheeks rosy from the cold, clutched their mittens and whispered excitedly about the dedication of the Webster barn.
The service began with the hymn “Great Is Thy Faithfulness,” and never have the words felt truer. The minister spoke from Psalm 127: “Except the Lord build the house, they labour in vain that build it.” He reminded us that the barn was more than timber and nails…it was a testimony of faith, of neighbors bearing one another’s burdens, of hope rebuilt after hardship.
When the final prayer was spoken, we did not disperse as usual. Instead, the entire congregation walked together down the road toward the Webster farm. The cattle lowed softly in the pasture as we approached, their breath rising in pale clouds. The new barn stood proudly against the gray sky, its fresh boards glowing golden beneath the lanterns hung along the beams. Inside, the lamps cast warm light that danced across the wood, making the place feel almost like a sanctuary.
We gathered in a wide circle, boots scuffing the clean swept floor. The minister prayed over the barn…over the harvests it would shelter, the animals it would protect, the family it would bless. His voice echoed gently in the rafters, and I felt the presence of God settle over us like a warm cloak. The Websters wept quietly, and many of us with them.
As we walked back toward town, the air grew strangely still. Then, without warning, tiny white flakes drifted from the sky…slow at first, then steady, soft as feathers.
Snow. My first snow.
I stopped in the road, unable to move. The flakes landed on my sleeves, on my hair, on the wool of my shawl, each one a tiny miracle. Beatty Creek never knew such winters, and I felt like a child again, breath caught in wonder. The world seemed hushed, as though God Himself had pressed a finger to His lips.
“He giveth snow like wool…” The verse from Psalms rose in my heart, and I whispered it aloud.
As I stood there, marveling, a warm weight settled around my shoulders. I turned to find Josiah beside me, his coat draped gently over me. He said nothing, only offered a small, knowing smile. The snow gathered in his dark hair, and the lantern light from the road behind us softened the hard lines of his face.
We walked the rest of the way in silence, the kind that speaks more than words. I felt the warmth of his coat, but also the warmth of something deeper…friendship, steady and unhurried, like the falling snow.
Tonight, in my small room at the Hinckley boarding house, I sit by lamplight with Great Grandmother Esther Mae’s journal open across my lap. The snow continues to fall outside, whispering against the window. Her handwriting…strong, looping, sure…tells of the day she met my great‑grandfather Sheldon. She wrote of his kindness, his quiet humor, his steadfast faith. They had little money, she said, but much love. Their wedding was small, just his brother and wife standing witness, while his mother prepared a humble feast to celebrate.
Her words glow with gratitude. “The Lord hath dealt bountifully with me,” she wrote. And as I read, I felt that same truth settle into my own heart.
For God has opened His storehouse upon Walnut…not only in snow, but in blessings far richer. The children at school, their bright eyes and eager spirits. The parents who labor faithfully. Mrs. Harrow with her gentle wisdom. The Websters, strengthened by the love of neighbors. And Josiah…walking beside me in the falling snow, carrying a sorrow he hides and a strength he does not boast.
I do not know what the Lord is shaping in my life here, but I feel His hand in every step. His goodness meets me in unexpected places…in barns lit by lanterns, in journals written long ago, in snowflakes drifting from a quiet sky.
Tonight, I am grateful. Deeply, quietly grateful.
“The lines are fallen unto me in pleasant places; yea, I have a goodly heritage.”
And so I rest in that truth.
The wind has quieted outside. The lamp flickers low. And I feel, deep in my spirit, that the Lord is near.
This Sabbath day shall remain with me, I believe, for all the years the Lord grants me breath. It felt as though heaven itself bent low over Walnut, touching our little town with a holiness both simple and profound.
I rose early, before the boarding house stirred. The frost on the windowpane glimmered like lace, and the air in my room held the sharp bite of approaching winter. I dressed quickly, pulling on my woolen stockings and buttoning my dark blue Sunday dress, the one with the small ivory buttons Mother stitched on before I left Beatty Creek. Over it I fastened my gray shawl, though I knew the walk to church would still be brisk. Mrs. Harrow had already set the kettle on, and the scent of coffee mingled with the faint sweetness of her molasses bread cooling on the counter.
By the time the church bell rang, the whole town seemed to be moving in one direction…toward the little white church that has become the heart of Walnut. The women wore their warmest cloaks, some trimmed with fur, others plain but neatly mended. The men brushed the dust from their coats and hats, their boots polished for the Lord’s Day. The children, cheeks rosy from the cold, clutched their mittens and whispered excitedly about the dedication of the Webster barn.
The service began with the hymn “Great Is Thy Faithfulness,” and never have the words felt truer. The minister spoke from Psalm 127: “Except the Lord build the house, they labour in vain that build it.” He reminded us that the barn was more than timber and nails…it was a testimony of faith, of neighbors bearing one another’s burdens, of hope rebuilt after hardship.
When the final prayer was spoken, we did not disperse as usual. Instead, the entire congregation walked together down the road toward the Webster farm. The cattle lowed softly in the pasture as we approached, their breath rising in pale clouds. The new barn stood proudly against the gray sky, its fresh boards glowing golden beneath the lanterns hung along the beams. Inside, the lamps cast warm light that danced across the wood, making the place feel almost like a sanctuary.
We gathered in a wide circle, boots scuffing the clean swept floor. The minister prayed over the barn…over the harvests it would shelter, the animals it would protect, the family it would bless. His voice echoed gently in the rafters, and I felt the presence of God settle over us like a warm cloak. The Websters wept quietly, and many of us with them.
As we walked back toward town, the air grew strangely still. Then, without warning, tiny white flakes drifted from the sky…slow at first, then steady, soft as feathers.
Snow. My first snow.
I stopped in the road, unable to move. The flakes landed on my sleeves, on my hair, on the wool of my shawl, each one a tiny miracle. Beatty Creek never knew such winters, and I felt like a child again, breath caught in wonder. The world seemed hushed, as though God Himself had pressed a finger to His lips.
“He giveth snow like wool…” The verse from Psalms rose in my heart, and I whispered it aloud.
As I stood there, marveling, a warm weight settled around my shoulders. I turned to find Josiah beside me, his coat draped gently over me. He said nothing, only offered a small, knowing smile. The snow gathered in his dark hair, and the lantern light from the road behind us softened the hard lines of his face.
We walked the rest of the way in silence, the kind that speaks more than words. I felt the warmth of his coat, but also the warmth of something deeper…friendship, steady and unhurried, like the falling snow.
Tonight, in my small room at the Hinckley boarding house, I sit by lamplight with Great Grandmother Esther Mae’s journal open across my lap. The snow continues to fall outside, whispering against the window. Her handwriting…strong, looping, sure…tells of the day she met my great‑grandfather Sheldon. She wrote of his kindness, his quiet humor, his steadfast faith. They had little money, she said, but much love. Their wedding was small, just his brother and wife standing witness, while his mother prepared a humble feast to celebrate.
Her words glow with gratitude. “The Lord hath dealt bountifully with me,” she wrote. And as I read, I felt that same truth settle into my own heart.
For God has opened His storehouse upon Walnut…not only in snow, but in blessings far richer. The children at school, their bright eyes and eager spirits. The parents who labor faithfully. Mrs. Harrow with her gentle wisdom. The Websters, strengthened by the love of neighbors. And Josiah…walking beside me in the falling snow, carrying a sorrow he hides and a strength he does not boast.
I do not know what the Lord is shaping in my life here, but I feel His hand in every step. His goodness meets me in unexpected places…in barns lit by lanterns, in journals written long ago, in snowflakes drifting from a quiet sky.
Tonight, I am grateful. Deeply, quietly grateful.
“The lines are fallen unto me in pleasant places; yea, I have a goodly heritage.”
And so I rest in that truth.
The wind has quieted outside. The lamp flickers low. And I feel, deep in my spirit, that the Lord is near.
Make sure and follow all The Hinckley Boarding House Journals. A place where long‑forgotten journals come alive, vintage pieces find their stories, and a quieter, simpler way of living unfolds on every page. Click here if you've just found this page and would like to read from the beginning.
Shelly Thompson, Owner of an 1875 historic Bank Building in Walnut, Iowa, that housed the Boarding Rooms in the late 1800's.
|
Shelly Thompson is the Publisher for The Notebook Cafe -- Inspired Words for the Journey, and owner of Millie McKeever's Vintage & Home Decor and Coffee Bar located in the quaint historic town of Walnut, Iowa. 'The Gathering Room' offers a place where women gather to share a time of fellowship, devotion, and a tour the circa 1875 historical bank building restored by Shelly and her husband. Shelly is the author of two books. Entwined; now in its fourth printing; and Heart of a Warrior - A Legacy of Faith; in its sixth printing. Her current writing project is 'The Boarding Room Journals'. Taking a giant leap of faith Shelly left the corporate world in 2015 to pursue a dream God gave her of developing a monthly inspirational faith based online reading café of words and encouragement. Today, The Notebook Café reaches over one million people each month. Shelly has also developed The Notebook Cafe Annual Woman's Conference and women's retreat. In addition to operating The Notebook Cafe shop, Millie McKeever's Vintage & Home Decor, Shelly and her husband, Dave, spend time with their family and many weekends working on home renovation projects…that thankfully never seem to end.
|
Stay in contact with us via our APP
|
Stay connected with our app. With ONE CLICK you can get all of our information!
You can subscribe to our APP totally free and you'll be notified when we offer our Facbook LIVE Shopping, and sale items are posted to our Facebook page. Best thing...subscribers get special deals occasionally. CLICK HERE TO CHECK OUT OUR APP! |