A Concert In The Wildwood

Nancy Toy moved to Hickory eleven years ago, but I still go to see her for my check-ups.  That's the kind of bond some folks form with their doctor . . . not that the non-profiteering geniuses running Randolph Hospital ever managed to figure it out.

I was in Hickory on Wednesday (several months late and after re-scheduling twice).  Had a good visit with Nancy - and a good report.  We caught up on each other's families, jobs and adventures. 

We talked about the unsettling state of medicine.  We're both unsettled.

I miss my friend's presence in my day-to-day life.  And I still miss what could have continued-to-be in Asheboro.

When I was done, instead of coming directly home, I turned west on the Interstate and headed up to Asheville - with two goals in mind.  The first was to visit the Folk Art Center (FAC) off the Blue Ridge Parkway and investigate replacing a rayon cape/shawl that I gave away to a friend last Christmas.  Alas, the company that made the shawl went the way of the dodo with the bad economy.  The FAC now uses the Crossnore School of Weavers for its work, so I've contacted them.

The exit (#55) you take off I-40, in order to connect with the parkway and FAC, dead-ends on its southern end into The Cove, a retreat founded by Billy & Ruth Graham that I've retreated to in years past for brief respites from life on the Interstate that zips by its entrance.

There is a reason that many of us who dwell in North Carolina call its mountains, "God's Country".

My main purpose, as an imperfect/crazy/stupid/irrational Christian (apparently, fighting the good fight in Randolph County qualifies you for all of the above), was just to sit in Ruth's Beautiful Chapel (hopefully alone) for a few minutes and catch my spiritual breath.

Sometimes things aren't well with your soul.  Storms rage.  Darkness looms.  You need to stop and regroup - if only for a few minutes.

I explained my purpose to the warm & smiling volunteer waiting for me at the door of Chatlos Chapel, and gently waived off all the handlers.  I only had a few minutes and I needed them to myself.  Or so I thought.

When I entered the Chapel, apart from encountering another lady in the restroom (a black woman, a little bit older than me, dressed all in white) - who I thought was a visitor (we exchanged pleasantries at the sink), there appeared to be a lull in the action of the tour groups that routinely come through.  Except for a volunteer sitting in one of the front pews of the sanctuary, it was empty.

Like a good Baptist, I sat on the last pew against the wall in the very back of the Chapel and drank the scene in.  Ruth Graham, in designing the place, very wisely eschewed the grandiose . . .  and instead opened the Chapel's massive windows to natural light and mountain views that would make even the most elaborate stained glass seem forced and small.

Although I love the Chapel best in the fall, there is a lot to be said for 40 shades of green.  On Wednesday, it reminded me of Ireland.

As I settled into my pew, the black woman I had encountered in the bathroom entered the Chapel.  She saw me and smiled, and said, "I seem to be following you."  She then walked right up to the grand piano at the front of the Chapel, sat down and began conversing with the volunteer.  She asked the other woman if she'd like to hear anything in particular - the woman said, "I love everything you play." 

And just like that, beautiful music filled the sanctuary.  It was like a drink of cool water.  I closed my eyes and leaned my head back against the wall (that's why this Baptist likes the back pew).

When she was done, this angel-in-disguise, a vision in white, who by now appeared to be almost glowing on the stage, smiled at me and asked me if I wanted to come closer.  (Like all good Baptists) I declined.  Then she asked if I would like to hear something.

"Do you know "It Is Well With My Soul", I asked?

"It is my favorite hymn", she said.  "I love the words."

And so began my own private concert in the Church in The Wildwood at Billy Graham's Cove.

Tears streamed down my face.  There are no words.  So I will stop.