The story of that little church in Swan Quarter, North Carolina, still stirs my heart.
In 1874 the congregation built a modest wooden building, but the land they truly wanted had been refused by its owner.
Two years later a storm struck the town, the kind of storm that tears apart homes and lifts barns from their foundations.
When the winds subsided, the church was gone—carried three hundred feet across the flooded streets.
And there, resting unharmed, it had come to a stop on the exact plot of ground they had prayed for.
The people called it The House of God Moved by the Hand of God. That story reminds us that the true church—wherever she may be—is still being moved, guided, and established by God Himself.