It was God‘s church. It had been erected upon the founding of the town  as an endeavor of the founders to create a moral center to hold the town together.  Months of labor had been put into cutting the wood framing the building, building the pews and podium, paint and stain.<br/><br/>A celebration was held upon it’s completion and the bell that hung above rang to announce to all in ear shot that they were welcome at the Church of the Desert Rose.  The pews were filled that Sunday, and the Sundays after that. The church was a sanctuary for the rough life that settlers of the town faced.<br/><br/>Then the railroad came and with it, all the vices that occupied the downtime of the workers.  Eventually they moved on, but the town was growing. They had a saloon now, card tables, dancing girls, and of course, whores. And every Sunday the pews were emptier.<br/><br/>It would have been easy to blame the saloon, the liquor, or any other factory of Satan, but that would’ve not been the truth. Those things were just the outlets for the dark hearts of the men and women who made up the town.<br/><br/>With prosperity, God was needed less and less. They had money now, the newest fashions, and the hope of a thriving economy.  They didn’t need the Church of the Desert Rose, and no worldly preacher wanted a church that couldn’t provide.<br/><br/>Thus the half dozen remaining members ended up with Pastor Michael.  He was the only man to answer the advertisement, at least the only one who wasn’t mad. He was hated immediately by the church, because when they asked him how he planned to grow the attendance, he simply responded ‘God will grow his church’.<br/><br/>The town grew to hate him, but they weren’t exactly sure why. He cared for the widow and orphan, and was honest in all his dealings. Perhaps it was the scripture that he read on the street for passerby’s to hear, or perhaps the prayers of ernest pleading for the souls of the lost.   Perhaps it was because he reminded them how far they had fallen.<br/><br/>Michael began that day like every other day, on his knees in the tent that was his home. It was big enough for a small stove, bed, and desk. It was freezing in the winter and sweltering in the summer and he was thankful each and every day for it.<br/><br/>He dared not leave the tent in the morning and face the day or the temptation’s of that town without first praying to God for his mercy, that even though he was a sinner, God’s grace might save him and carry him through.<br/><br/>That day was different though. That was the day that Camilla came to Rosa del Desierto.