A Shack and a Shrine


When we left Jacksonville, Florida last August there were two houses we were considering for our home, both of which were located much better as far as the roads are concerned, than where we eventually rented. We had discussed both houses and decided that either one would be alright as they were very nice and in a good neighborhood and easy to reach by car. We had not given a thought to the little cabin where we spent the winter, but God had. So when we arrived in North Carolina and visited friends in the community where we had spent about a year, we started house hunting, for we had already decided where we were going to live. We had just started out to rent one of the houses we had agreed on, but when we got in sight of the first house we had in mind, we saw that the kitchen door was open.

I said to Frances, "This house is rented." We drove right on by and did not give it any further thought as we were sure it was occupied. We went on to the other house and were overjoyed to find it empty. I went to see the owner and was disappointed to find it had been rented a few days previous, but the family had not moved in. After our conversation was over and I had started away, he called to me and said, "I have another small house but I don't suppose it is fit to live in. You may go and look at it." This we did, and found a little cabin in a very bad condition.

We have now moved to a larger and better home, also more easily reached, but this little cabin where we spent the winter is so dear to our hearts; God was so near and dear to us there. I just want to tell you all about our little cabin home nestled among the mountain laurel and beautiful pines in the hills of North Carolina.

Picture in your mind an old automobile loaded with odds and ends, bedding tied on the top, an oil stove fastened to the bumper, and suit cases tied about on the fenders and running board. Chugging along through the mountains, dodging a rock here and hitting a mud hole there. The occupants of this old car were happy, though they had very little of this world's goods. They had prayer in their hearts and songs on their lips because they belonged to God and were on a Mission for their Savior. We continued on to where there is a little trail leading off the road and up a valley between two mountains. We followed this trail fording creeks where there are no bridges and dodging as many holes and bumps as possible.

At last we came to a small cabin completely surrounded by weeds. There were only three windows, which were boarded up. The doors were the shuttle type, having no locks or hardware. The back door was secured with a hasp and padlock. The roof was in a very bad condition. There were two shed type rooms built on the back, which we could not use because of the condition of the roof. There were great cracks in the ceilings, walls and floors. Many of the window panes were gone. In the kitchen there was only one window, the lower part of which was rough wooden shutter. The little mantel shelf, which was made of rough boards, was cracked and blackened with smoke and heat from the fireplace. The floors were littered with dirt and debris. A lot of tobacco stems and a plow were in one of the rooms, also a lot of fodder for the cattle was stored there.

This was not just the sort of house we had hoped to get, but there was no complaining or thoughts of discouragement, for we believed God had led us there and we knew if He was there, it would be better, much better, than the most beautiful and pretentious mansion without our dear Lord and Savior. We did not understand then, but we know the answer now. Before anything was done or the boards taken from the windows, I tacked a motto, "Jesus Never Fails," on the front door after prayer, and we decided to clean house and move in.

We spent several days in a kind neighbor's home while we made the house as livable as we could. We scrubbed the walls, ceiling, and floors with hot soapy lye water. Also, we burned sulphur in every room. After much cleaning inside and out, we moved in. Our furniture which we had ordered had not arrived, so I built a large bunk for a bed, and borrowed a few articles, a chair or so, and started the work that we had come to do, preaching and teaching, going to many mountain homes, pleading the cause of Christ. We have spent many happy hours of fellowship with our Lord in this little cabin.

One evening, our little girl, Shirley, came home from school suffering from the flu, with a fever and a severe headache. Frances immediately put her to bed. We were many, many miles from the nearest doctor, and he would seldom, if ever, go out on these little mountain trails in the winter time. We went over and sat down beside the bed. I asked if she believed in her heart that God could heal her and she answered yes. So I placed my hand on her forehead and we went to the Great Physician who has never lost a case, silently bowing in prayer, asking Him to help. In a very short while she said, "Mother, the pain is all gone; my head doesn't hurt any more," and fell asleep. Oh, how we praise our wonderful Savior for holding us in the hollow of the Hand that was nailed to Calvary's Cross. This is just one of many, many times. He has been so near to us in this little cabin home that we felt as though we could almost touch the hem of His garment.

A man came there one night—a cruel, wicked, drunken, hard-hearted, wife-beating sinner. He left with his shoulders squared to the world, a different look in his eyes, a shine on his face, a heart that had been made soft and tender. He had laid all on the altar and his burdens at the foot of the Cross.

This little cabin away out on an isolated mountain trail in the western hills of North Carolina is only a shack to some, but to us and many others it had many happy and fond memories. One man said, "That little cabin will always be a shrine in my heart, for I found my Savior there," praise His wonderful name forever.

We request a great interest in your prayers that we will be great soul winners for our Savior, and remember this mission's needs.


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© 2000 by Jeff Doles