From the Journal of Clara Whitmore September 13th, 1895 – Walnut, Iowa
Reflections of First Week of Teaching at the one-room schoolhouse
My first week of teaching in the sweet one‑room schoolhouse in Walnut has come to its close, and tonight, as the lamp flickers softly in my little room at The Hinckley Boarding Rooms, I feel both a little weary and deeply grateful. The early fall winds whisper against the window, and in the quiet I sense the Lord’s nearness. A peace settles over me that I know is not of my own making, but His.
Each morning this week I have walked to the schoolhouse just after sunrise. The warm glow of lamplight in the homes I pass reminds me that God watches over every household, every family, and every step I take. The schoolhouse itself has become familiar now…the whitewashed boards, the bell tower, the windows catching the early morning light…a gentle reminder that His mercies truly are new every day. I feel Him in that light, calling me forward.
My duties have settled into a calm daily routine…sweeping the floorboards, pumping fresh water, arranging the slates, checking the outhouse, writing the day’s sums on the blackboard. These small tasks, once daunting, now feel like anchors the Lord has placed in my hands…simple ways to serve Him by serving the children of Walnut.
And oh, the children! They have already found their way into my heart. Little Anna runs to her desk with a shy smile that warms me every time. The older boys greet me with nods that feel almost respectful. The girls linger after lessons, asking questions or showing me the flowers they’ve gathered outside. Their eagerness reminds me that God has entrusted me with young hearts and minds, and though I feared I might be overwhelmed, I find instead that He strengthens me for what He has called me to do.
Wednesday brought a moment I will not soon forget. Just as I was preparing to dismiss the children, a small commotion stirred in the back row. Little Thomas Harper, eyes wide with mischief, revealed a tiny green frog he had found near the pump. The girls squealed, the boys laughed, and even I could not help but smile. Thomas insisted the frog wanted to “learn his letters too.”
I gently explained that while the frog was surely bright, he would be happier outside. Thomas nodded solemnly and carried him out with great ceremony. The sweetness of it…the innocence, the joy…felt like a small gift from the Lord, a reminder that He sprinkles delight into our days just when we need it. Father, my heart is grateful that You always know what we need.
This afternoon, after the children left, I lingered in the schoolhouse. The room was warm with late sunlight, dust motes drifting like tiny lanterns. As I swept the floor, I prayed…not with eloquent words, but with the simple honesty of a heart searching for direction.
Lord, show me why You brought me here.
Help me to see this place as You see it.
Plant me where You will, and let me grow.
For the first time, the silence of the small schoolhouse did not feel empty. It felt like a promise…a quiet assurance that God is already at work in ways I cannot yet see.
Life at the boarding house has been its own blessing. Mrs. Harrow is a kind woman with a warm kitchen and a steady way about her. Each evening she prepares supper…stews rich with vegetables, warm bread, sometimes a pie. We gather around the table in what she calls “The Gathering Room,” and though we are not family, the meals feel homelike in a way I did not expect. I see God’s kindness in these small comforts, in the friendships beginning to form, in the laughter that softens the edges of loneliness.
After supper tonight, I retreated to my room, where the olive green wallpaper glows softly in the lamplight. I reached again for the journals of my great-grandmother, Esther Mae. I brought them from Beaty Creek tied with a faded blue ribbon, not knowing then how dearly I would cling to them now. Her handwriting is delicate, the ink browned with age, but her words breathe with a faith that feels alive.
I thank God for the way she still shepherds me, even though she is no longer present. She writes of her own life through different seasons…often praying for strength, like when her clothes caught on fire and she was severely burned when she was 15. I pray I have her strength. Her journals feel like a hand on my shoulder, steadying me when my own steps falter.
Still, in the quiet evenings, doubt sometimes creeps in. I wonder whether I am truly equal to this calling. I miss my sweet Beaty Creek, my mother’s voice drifting from the kitchen window. Walnut is beautiful, but it is not yet home. And yet…God brought me here. That truth steadies me when my heart wavers. One passage in my great grandmothers journals caught my breath tonight. She wrote…
“The Lord does not ask me to be fearless, only faithful. When my knees tremble, I stand anyway, for He stands with me.”
Lord, help me to be faithful when my knees tremble…there are young children watching me. May I be a lamp to their young hearts.
Now, as the boarding house settles into its nighttime hush, I feel His assurance again. I miss Beaty Creek…I always will…but Walnut is beginning to feel less like a place I have come to and more like a place where the Lord has called me to grow.
It is here…in my own journals…that I write my thoughts, my prayers, and my hopes for the children God has placed in my care. Tonight I copied a verse that has carried me through the week…”The Lord is my strength and my shield; my heart trusted in Him, and I am helped.” Writing it in my own hand felt like claiming the promise anew.
As I close my journal, I rest in this truth…if God brought me here, then He will guide my steps. And through the words of my great‑grandmother, I am reminded that He has been faithful to the women before me…and He will be faithful to me as well.
And as I prepare for sleep…I know I have been placed here by my Father’s hand…for a time such as this.
-Clara Whitmore
(As imagined by Shelly Thompson)
**While these journals are imagined, several of the entries are based on real events. My mother’s clothes actually caught on fire when she was 15.
The place I hold dear to my heart in Walnut, Iowa in our 1875 bank building is ‘The Gathering Room’… the place, the journals reference where the boarding house residents enjoy their meals. The table in the real ‘Gathering Room’ has enjoyed over 3,000 women seated around it growing closer to God since opening it in September 2017 after my mother…named Esther Mae…passed into the arms of Jesus. You can learn more by clicking here.
Walnut, Iowa does have a small one‑room schoolhouse that has been beautifully restored. It’s open for tours during the summer months and is a wonderful place to teach children about the history of one‑room schoolhouses. The photo in this post is the actual Walnut schoolhouse.
Reflections of First Week of Teaching at the one-room schoolhouse
My first week of teaching in the sweet one‑room schoolhouse in Walnut has come to its close, and tonight, as the lamp flickers softly in my little room at The Hinckley Boarding Rooms, I feel both a little weary and deeply grateful. The early fall winds whisper against the window, and in the quiet I sense the Lord’s nearness. A peace settles over me that I know is not of my own making, but His.
Each morning this week I have walked to the schoolhouse just after sunrise. The warm glow of lamplight in the homes I pass reminds me that God watches over every household, every family, and every step I take. The schoolhouse itself has become familiar now…the whitewashed boards, the bell tower, the windows catching the early morning light…a gentle reminder that His mercies truly are new every day. I feel Him in that light, calling me forward.
My duties have settled into a calm daily routine…sweeping the floorboards, pumping fresh water, arranging the slates, checking the outhouse, writing the day’s sums on the blackboard. These small tasks, once daunting, now feel like anchors the Lord has placed in my hands…simple ways to serve Him by serving the children of Walnut.
And oh, the children! They have already found their way into my heart. Little Anna runs to her desk with a shy smile that warms me every time. The older boys greet me with nods that feel almost respectful. The girls linger after lessons, asking questions or showing me the flowers they’ve gathered outside. Their eagerness reminds me that God has entrusted me with young hearts and minds, and though I feared I might be overwhelmed, I find instead that He strengthens me for what He has called me to do.
Wednesday brought a moment I will not soon forget. Just as I was preparing to dismiss the children, a small commotion stirred in the back row. Little Thomas Harper, eyes wide with mischief, revealed a tiny green frog he had found near the pump. The girls squealed, the boys laughed, and even I could not help but smile. Thomas insisted the frog wanted to “learn his letters too.”
I gently explained that while the frog was surely bright, he would be happier outside. Thomas nodded solemnly and carried him out with great ceremony. The sweetness of it…the innocence, the joy…felt like a small gift from the Lord, a reminder that He sprinkles delight into our days just when we need it. Father, my heart is grateful that You always know what we need.
This afternoon, after the children left, I lingered in the schoolhouse. The room was warm with late sunlight, dust motes drifting like tiny lanterns. As I swept the floor, I prayed…not with eloquent words, but with the simple honesty of a heart searching for direction.
Lord, show me why You brought me here.
Help me to see this place as You see it.
Plant me where You will, and let me grow.
For the first time, the silence of the small schoolhouse did not feel empty. It felt like a promise…a quiet assurance that God is already at work in ways I cannot yet see.
Life at the boarding house has been its own blessing. Mrs. Harrow is a kind woman with a warm kitchen and a steady way about her. Each evening she prepares supper…stews rich with vegetables, warm bread, sometimes a pie. We gather around the table in what she calls “The Gathering Room,” and though we are not family, the meals feel homelike in a way I did not expect. I see God’s kindness in these small comforts, in the friendships beginning to form, in the laughter that softens the edges of loneliness.
After supper tonight, I retreated to my room, where the olive green wallpaper glows softly in the lamplight. I reached again for the journals of my great-grandmother, Esther Mae. I brought them from Beaty Creek tied with a faded blue ribbon, not knowing then how dearly I would cling to them now. Her handwriting is delicate, the ink browned with age, but her words breathe with a faith that feels alive.
I thank God for the way she still shepherds me, even though she is no longer present. She writes of her own life through different seasons…often praying for strength, like when her clothes caught on fire and she was severely burned when she was 15. I pray I have her strength. Her journals feel like a hand on my shoulder, steadying me when my own steps falter.
Still, in the quiet evenings, doubt sometimes creeps in. I wonder whether I am truly equal to this calling. I miss my sweet Beaty Creek, my mother’s voice drifting from the kitchen window. Walnut is beautiful, but it is not yet home. And yet…God brought me here. That truth steadies me when my heart wavers. One passage in my great grandmothers journals caught my breath tonight. She wrote…
“The Lord does not ask me to be fearless, only faithful. When my knees tremble, I stand anyway, for He stands with me.”
Lord, help me to be faithful when my knees tremble…there are young children watching me. May I be a lamp to their young hearts.
Now, as the boarding house settles into its nighttime hush, I feel His assurance again. I miss Beaty Creek…I always will…but Walnut is beginning to feel less like a place I have come to and more like a place where the Lord has called me to grow.
It is here…in my own journals…that I write my thoughts, my prayers, and my hopes for the children God has placed in my care. Tonight I copied a verse that has carried me through the week…”The Lord is my strength and my shield; my heart trusted in Him, and I am helped.” Writing it in my own hand felt like claiming the promise anew.
As I close my journal, I rest in this truth…if God brought me here, then He will guide my steps. And through the words of my great‑grandmother, I am reminded that He has been faithful to the women before me…and He will be faithful to me as well.
And as I prepare for sleep…I know I have been placed here by my Father’s hand…for a time such as this.
-Clara Whitmore
(As imagined by Shelly Thompson)
**While these journals are imagined, several of the entries are based on real events. My mother’s clothes actually caught on fire when she was 15.
The place I hold dear to my heart in Walnut, Iowa in our 1875 bank building is ‘The Gathering Room’… the place, the journals reference where the boarding house residents enjoy their meals. The table in the real ‘Gathering Room’ has enjoyed over 3,000 women seated around it growing closer to God since opening it in September 2017 after my mother…named Esther Mae…passed into the arms of Jesus. You can learn more by clicking here.
Walnut, Iowa does have a small one‑room schoolhouse that has been beautifully restored. It’s open for tours during the summer months and is a wonderful place to teach children about the history of one‑room schoolhouses. The photo in this post is the actual Walnut schoolhouse.
Shelly Thompson, Owner of an 1875 historic Bank Building in Walnut, Iowa, that housed the Boarding Rooms in the late 1800's.
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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.
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