The

The You know, Lakeville in Indiana is the kind of town you might pass through without even realizing it.

It has a population of less than 1,000 people and it's surrounded in sprawling farmland and flat open fields.

It was founded in the mid-1800s and has always been a working-class community,

defined by tradition, close-knit values and a strong undercurrent of faith.

Just outside the town limits, down a two-lane stretch of Osborne Road

sits the Olive Branch Church of the United Brethren in Christ.

It's a modest and unassuming building with a simple white steeple.

It's one of those churches that looks more like a family home than a place of worship.

The congregation here is small, just a handful of families from around the county who gather each Sunday for prayers, hymns and fellowship.

Inside the pews creak with age, the carpets are faded and the walls are lined with framed scripture

and children's drawings. It isn't a grand church, but for those who attended, it was sacred and it was

familiar. One morning in 1989, the congregation gathered like they did every Sunday.

They parked their cars in the gravel lot, filtered into the church, and settled into their seats.

But as the minutes ticked by, something felt off.

The service was supposed to begin at 9 a.m., but there was no sign of the pastor.

Robert Pally had found his calling at the Olive Branch Church of the United Brethren in Christ.

He was the preacher and for many in the small rural congregation, he wasn't just their spiritual guide.

Robert was more than that. He was their friend, their confidant and their neighbour.

Robert was a father, a husband and a man who believed in faith, forgiveness, and the occasional

well-timed prank.

He had a unique way of delivering his sermons.

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