An hour later when the idea had not come, the parson spoke to Charlie Brown, his faithful canine companion. “Come on, Charlie, let’s get away from this boring place.”
Charlie Brown bounded toward the door and was sitting impatiently beside the rear passenger door before the parson was down the front steps. Together they drove to the fifty area recreational area where he sometimes allowed Charlie Brown to run to his heart’s content.
Charlie Brown was sitting expectantly as the car pulled into the lot. When the door opened he bounced out, ran around in three circles and then headed at a trot down the hill. The parson sat himself on a picnic bench and watched Charlie frolic. In a few moments, the parson rose and began his own exercise, walking at a good pace along the paved path that circled the facility.
Two-thirds around the circuit, the parson greeted a couple sitting on bench. Then nodded. Facial expressions shouted this was not a romantic outing for the two; anger punctuated each countenance. The parson walked on. Rounding a curve that was prelude to the path dipping into a depression, Charlie Brown came romping up, tail wagging, tongue hanging, ears flopping. He paused to sniff the parson’s hand and then in a quick movement turned toward the pond at the bottom of the hill where the geese swam.
A movement on top of the hill caught his eye. The sound of laughter captured his attention. She must have been around eight. “Higher,” she commanded, and the soldier with the beret pushed her hard. She squealed; he laughed. The parson watched intently. The moments were precious; the parson knew deployment was in two days.
Charlie Brown had reached the bottom of the hill and now flung himself into the air to belly flop into the pond. The geese, accustomed to Charlie’s antics, showed no panic. Soon the geese and Charlie were paddling away, side be side. The parson paused in his walk to remember if Charlie’s seat cover was in place in the car. His memory assured him he’d have nothing to justify to Ms. Parson.
Cresting the hill, the parson saw Henry and Helen, “H & H” as they were referred to, walking on a path on the other side of the football field. They were holding hands as they had been for the fifty-five years of their marriage. The parson marveled at their love, their energy that took them to a dance every other Saturday night, and their deadly skill at poker.
Charlie Brown came running to the parson’s side, having no doubt panicked when the parson had gone from his sight. Together the two walked around the soccer field and back to the car. Charlie Brown graciously shook as much wet from his fur as possible before jumping in. The parson slid behind the steering wheel wondering which story he would write. The parson sat with the computer in his lap daring an idea to come into his mind that would be the genesis of a story for his blog. The idea would not take the dare.
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The sun lost its struggle to break through the clouds and prepared to dip below the horizon. And yet the effort painted the clouds with a strange orange hue.
The parson pulled his car into the left hand lane close to the curb as he stopped beside the mailbox. Lowering the window he reached out to retrieve the day’s mail. Charlie Brown, his faithful canine companion, roused himself on the back seat and awaited the next stop.
Parking the car, the parson stepped out, opened the rear door and headed inside. Quickly he sorted the mail, checked for messages, made a couple of notes on things to do, and then quickly prepared to leave again.
On impulse the parson sat himself down, leaned his head back, closed his eyes, exhaled deeply and expelled his breath as he felt his fatigue. He looked around, taking in the details for the thousandth time. Outside the sun slipped down beneath the horizon and the light began to fail. Where the parson sat fading light enveloped in an aura of peace.
The took in the space again. There was something about it, a quietness, a stillness, and a mystery. The parson breathed deeply as though to inhale the essence of the room. He rose from his seat and moved to the door.
Outside Charlie Brown sat beside the car in anticipation of another ride. The parson opened the read door. Charlie Brown jumped in and with an audible grunt lowered himself to lay upon the seat. The parson moved behind the wheel. He cranked the car and reached for the gear shift.
He stopped and stared at the door from which he’d just exited. He remembered the sermons preached inside, the congregation that surprised him with their accomplishments and frustrated him to distraction with the limits of their faith. He thought of the frustrations the weekly appearance in that room brought him, the sermons needing more than he’d delivered, the people barely listening, the complaints that Aunt Mandy’s favorite hymn had not been sung in months. The room was symbolic of all that confronted a pastor.
The parson marveled at the mystery of sanctuaries and the hold they had always had on his life, from the chapel at the youth camp in his high school years, to the balcony pew of his home church in his teenage years, to the front pews in the years of his discovery, and distinctive mystery of each sanctuary whose walls had absorbed his words.
The parson had left his fatigue inside. Now he drove away with a lighter demeanor, marveling at the healing power of sanctuaries, especially empty ones.
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