My husband and I took a trip to Ireland in September. I got very sick on the return trip and have been laid up, but I decided to try and participate in Alphabe-Thursday this round with my own little tales of Ireland.
This Letter B is also the second part of Letter A. It just happened that way and it's not really going to be a continuing story but more of an exercise to write about the experience.
If you want to read the letter A first, you can find it here.
Be still and know…
That I am God?
That this is a moment out of time?
That this time and place and will never happen again?
Or perhaps it was all of the above.
We drove across a narrow, ancient stone bridge.
Around a bend in a road hedged with ferns and fuschia.
And attempted to pull into the parking lot of the tiny, ancient
stone church nestled into the small glen of verdant greenery that was the rural
Irish countryside.
Mr. Jenny was driving.
On the ‘wrong’ side of the road. Our middle Grandlittle was sitting
white-knuckled in the back seat of our rented van.
We took no pictures that evening. This is just another picture of Mr. Jenny and our middle Grandlittle.
The parking lot was crammed.
Light spilled from the open arched doorway of the old church
illuminating a group of gathered Irish churchgoers.
Mr. Jenny was not being reverent. A few heathen words escaped his lips as he
attempted to back into a tight parking spot.
Middle Grandlittle and I
giggled. And offered advice. Neither of which was well received. If laughter and back-slapping was any
indication, the little crowd of watchers greatly enjoyed watching his attempts much
more than we did.
Finally, muttering about steering wheels in the wrong place
and backseat drivers, Mr. Jenny turned
off the engine and glanced up to see his audience.
He was not amused.
His crankiness soon went away when we were greeted with open
arms, literally, by our new friend, Anne.
We hugged and smiled and hugged and smiled and she said something lovely
and musical like, ” ‘Tis happy I am to see you and your lovely wee
Grandchild. I’ve saved a place for you
all.”
She escorted us into the little stone church and up the
center aisle. Each dark oak gated pew
was crowded with families and candle light flickered across the altar adorned
with musicians as well as hydrangea and boxwood bouquets.
She led us to the second from the front pew and opened the
little gate to allow us in.
A woman in her 40’s and a thin, dark young man in his early
20’s were already seated. They stood and
let us by and we shuffled in…Mr. Jenny sat closest to the wall and our
Grandlittle was sandwiched between us.
The surface of the pew was piled high with pillows and we
weren’t sure what to do with them. I
asked the woman next to me and she laughed and said to put as many as we wanted
beneath our bottoms for comfort. Our
Grandlittle was delighted with that reponse.
My fellow pillowed-pew sharer and I struck up a lively,
whispered conversation as the musicians tuned up.
To be candid I could hardly understand her and I suspect it
was mutual. Amidst much laughing,
though, I discovered it was her son seated by her…he was incredibly nervous
because he was playing the organ during the program…and that she was terribly
proud of him for winning some kind of country wide organ contest. She had just begun whispering questions about
America when Anne stepped to the front of the little church.
She offered a warm and lovely welcome to the gathering.
Our Granddaughter held tightly to both of our hands and then
angels came to let their voices dance to the rafters of the church.
Oh.
Oh.
It was beyond beautiful.
There were two harps.
There was a violin. There was a
penny whistle. There was a guitar and
another instrument I’ve never seen before.
There were beautiful harmonious voices woven together in
folk songs and in hymns.
There was a charming little boy who walked solemnly to the
front and played a violin.
His little brother came after and played the trumpet. His cowlick trembled with his efforts.
We tapped our toes.
Our eyes filled with tears.
I squeezed my Grandlittles warm hand and the woman next to
me held mine.
“Be still, Jenny,” I told myself. “Remember these beautiful moments.”
I think I actually held my breath trying to remember.
After an hour or so of music, Anne once again stood in the
front of the church.
“This is intermission.
Please join us in the hall for refreshments.”
She smiled broadly at us and made a motion toward the rear
door. We stood and prepared to join our
fellow music lovers.
This little part of our Irish travel story is linked to the letter B. B is for Be Still. To read other B offerings, just click here.
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