We love our holidays in the deep south.
I recall one day in particular. We were driving through the Low Country of South Carolina on a two-lane back road, a meandering drive through farming country, fields of cotton and corn. The car windows were lowered; we could smell the soft, warm air.
My wife, driving the car, slowed as we entered a village. It was like driving into a postcard—a small main street, clean and orderly, with shops to serve the locals, a character coffee shop, and a drug store. I expected to see Deputy Barney Fife of the fictional town of Mayberry outside the barbershop.
We pulled into a full-service station to get some gas.
I got out of the car, walked around to set up the pump and commence my fill. With the nozzle in the gas tank, I squeezed the handle to start the flow. The pump bell chimed as the tank filled.
With nothing on my mind, I looked over the roof of the car. The service station was attractive, with old-fashioned architecture, art-deco out of the 50s. The exterior was painted white with bright green trim, two service bays and an office.
I could see into the bays. A mechanic was working on a car, leaning over the engine. The space was neat and tidy; even the oil stains on the floor looked clean. There was a large, bright red unit for wrenches and tools. Everything about the space suggested purpose. This was a serious workspace—an area dedicated to maintenance.
The gas pump clicked off. As I turned to put the gas nozzle back in its slot on the pump, I looked across the road, and the village church came into focus. It was a beautiful sight.
The green grassed lot was well-groomed. The church building was perfectly situated on the landscape. The simple white structure showed through the green leaves and grey Spanish moss. The architecture was perfectly balanced. The windows were proportioned to the building. The steeple, seen through the branches, was topped with a cross.
Everything about the building confirmed its purpose, which was boldly declared on the sign at the front of the lot, “This Is God’s House.” This was a serious workspace—a space dedicated to worship.
The two domains, the orderly garage and the beautiful church, different yet similar. Both were serious workspaces.
A share from an AA meeting came to mind, “churches may be God’s house, but his workshops are meetings of Alcoholics Anonymous.” Sunday church and AA meetings, different yet similar. Both are serious workspaces.
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