Little Church in the Valley

By Candy Thompson 

 As we drove down WV route 72 to Etam, Preston County, I was anxiously anticipating my Sunday morning visit to Green Valley United Methodist Church. I was going to attend a worship service at the same church my Grandma Evelyn attended when she was a little girl with her parents—my Great Grandparents—Jason and Myrtle Friend. 

 Green Valley United Methodist Church is a small one room country church. I previously researched a copy of the original handwritten deed on record at the Preston County Courthouse. The deed was dated September 9, 1904. The church was originally called the Methodist Protestant Church.

I traced my ancestors attending this church, all the way back to my 3x great grandparents. In fact during the formation of the church, John Friend, who was my 2x great grandfather, was one of the founding trustees.  I can just picture my great grandparents walking down the dirt road on Sunday morning, holding my grandmother’s tiny hand in theirs. They would wave and wish a good morning to others who were on their way to attend worship service with them.

Finally, we arrived outside of the church. As I was walking through the front door, I was taken back in time. A time when life was simple, yet hard and rewarding. I took a look around to see that with some human touches, this church had weathered well over the years. Everything appeared as it was when the doors first opened back in 1904, including the straight back old fashion pews. The walls were made of plain narrow hand cut boards, running horizontally and painted a chalky white on the top half, the bottom half was painted in a deep brown. The floors were hardwood  boards that creaked a little when you walked across them. Wire cables were stretched across the width of the church to hold the outside walls in place. A small altar was placed in the front of the church, made from a simple board. I could picture the pride and hard work the men put into making sure everything was precisely done while constructing this church with regular hand tools. 

     An old piano rests in one corner and an old organ, with a mirror and victorian gingerbread style embellishment across the top of it, sits diagonally across from it. Pictures hanging along the walls are from when the church first opened its doors, including an old time attendance board. Back then the congregation consisted of many families with lots of children. The church once used a coal burning pot belly stove for heat, which was replaced by an aged old fuel oil stove. It was connected to a stove pipe that fed the smoke through an opening cut in the side wall.

     My husband Larry and I were greeted with friendly smiles and hellos, followed by neighborly hugs. Nowadays, there is only a small congregation attending, anywhere from four to fifteen people. But I could feel the boundless love in their hearts by the warm compassion they showed us. 

     Alma Parkinson, my great grandfather’s niece, introduced us to everyone. I had called her earlier in the week and told her we would be coming. Everyone was so excited to meet us. They had come together and prepared a meal for our visit. Crockpots were lined up on a table near the back of the room. The aroma of homemade food filled the air.

     The worship service was filled with spiritual hymns and a powerful uplifting message by Pastor Justin Jones. They only hold worship services on the 2nd and 4th Sunday. This is because the pastor performs services at 4 churches in the area. Two churches each Sunday. During the service, someone mentioned a donation was needed to help out a worthy cause. It was unconditionally motioned and passed. Everyone gave without hesitation.       

     For me to attend service here and witness the love this small congregation had in their hearts, was unsurpassed. I had the privilege of sitting in the same pews that generations of my ancestors had sat in. I cherished every minute. 

     Soon time came for us to leave. We said our goodbye’s. Everyone welcomed us to come again. I had made some wonderful new friends this day. 

     I have been back for a couple of church visits since that time. For a Veteran’s Day service, I read a special passage I wrote to honor the veterans for their military service. I felt my ancestors were sitting there listening as I spoke. It was such an honor to be able to do this, in the same church generations of my family had attended, sitting down in the same pews that they had sat in. 

“I could picture the pride and hard work the men put into making sure everything was precisely done while constructing this church with regular hand tools.”

     Being a small yet mighty congregation, they are trying to keep their church going. They are doing some remodeling, adding new white siding on the outside. A gas heating stove has replaced the old fuel oil heater. They plan on getting the church bell back up. They can’t wait for the day they can hear it ring across the valley.

     The dreams and hopes of this small congregation are what carries them through, just like it did when my ancestors were pioneers  building and making plans to start this tiny church in the valley. Green Valley Church is keeping the promises of yesterday. Stop by and visit some Sunday, they will greet you with open arms.