CJ and I drove with some friends back to where I spent much time in my late teens and twenties. We all took a few days off from work to come to Cullowhee and surrounding areas. We’re using the week to think and pray through the direction for the future of the church body we serve.

We’re taking in the waterfalls, some of the local bookstores and ice cream and chocolate shops, stopping by my old college stomping grounds where I did a couple of my degrees, walking the grounds of which I have precious memories with Ken, Wayne, Barclay, Sara, Cameron, and others.

The school’s much larger now. The student body has doubled in size from when I arrived many moons ago. And Sylva has lots of new shops, but some of the old ones are still around, just in new locations. There are small breweries and art shops, though, and it still has that lovely western NC feel.

From the cabin where I sit now, the clouds hang like carefree marshmallows above the mountains. Two hummingbirds dart to and from the feeder hanging from the deck. I can hear the creek running down below us, swift due to the morning’s heavy rainfall. As far as you can see, it’s mountains and memories.

We patronized City Lights Bookstore in Sylva. I purchased a WCU sweatshirt for my wife from the campus bookstore. I looked at the wonderful Ron Rash books for sale to fellow bibliophiles and literature lovers.

It all washes over me, and something deep within my soul returns to being a boy here, finding my way, cruising the Blue Ridge Parkway with my buddies, hiking, and dreaming of our futures.

It’s only Tuesday, and I am already excited about tomorrow, when we’ll take in waterfalls, trek Highlands, Cashiers, and perhaps drive on up to the Parkway one more time–to gaze, ponder, and feel the strings of the soul plucked by the beauty pervading this place.

Introduction: I had flown to Texas and then to Arkansas to minister to fellow soldiers. I was in my element–mobile, teaching military personnel, and teaching on topics near and dear to my heart: spiritual readiness and spiritual fitness. I was thrilled to come to see this set of guys again. It had been several months since I had been able to pour into them and to just be with them. They’re among my favorite soldiers–good ‘ole boys from Arkansas, Texas, and Oklahoma, mostly. Salt of the earth patriots. My kind of people.

A few hours later, the American flight landed in Dallas. I had an hour or so to kill until my next flight. I found an open chair and resumed the book I’d read on the flight. I only had a few pages left, and I finished the book.

I’d had to wake at 0130 back in Georgia in order to be at the Atlanta airport at 0330 for American’s first a.m. flight to Dallas. All had gone well so far, though. There was scant traffic at that hour, and I had no significant hassles to speak of, even at Atlanta’s airport.

Anyway, the flight had landed in Dallas, just as the sun was coming up. As far as you could see, it was flat and already hot, even at dawn. I’m not wired for July heat in Texas or much of July heat anywhere else, but that’s another story.

Closer than I Thought: When I took another flight to my final destination, I picked up my ride. My lodging was not ready yet, so I drove to a local bookstore to peruse the shelves. I found a book of Faulkner stories. I’ve read Faulkner for decades now, and respect him now as always. A giant of literature.

Anyway, I gripped the book of Faulkner stories in my right hand, retrieved my wallet with my left hand, and walked to the front counter to pay. A petite brunette with a ponytail and black Books-A-Million t-shirt rang me up.

“Could I interest you in a membership card?”

“No thanks.”

“How’s your day going so far?”

“Fine,” I said.

“Just relaxing, eh?”

I just smiled. I sometimes struggle to engage when the conversation is about drivel. Say something significant, or I’m likely to check out.

“Could I interest you in a gift card?” she continued.

“No thanks.” Honestly, I was starting to get annonyed. Just let me pay for the Faulkner book and be on my way, I thought.

“I had to park close to the store this morning,” she said.

“Sorry?”

She kept cutting her eyes to the left, signaling me somehow.

“My husband … he told me to park right in front of the store,” she said.

I was completely lost as to what she was driving at.

She whispered, “We found out. There’s a man with a warrant between us and the store next door. The cops are on their way. My husband told me to park close to the front of the store, so I did.”

“Oh,” is all I could think to say.

I looked down at the little black pad for me to pay. The total appeared; I tapped my debit card.

“Receipt?” she asked.

“No thanks.”

I walked out, the hot sun blaring down already, my Faulkner book in my right hand. I noticed a silver Nissan by the Books-A-Million, near the bookstore’s entrance. I assumed it belonged to the girl at the register. I sat in the car for a few moments. Waiting. For something. Cops to show? A criminal to become visible to me? I waited. Nothing. No cops that I saw. Perhaps they would come circumspectly, in unmarked clothes and plain clothes. I waited some more. Still nothing.

I sat in the driver’s seat, the A/C on blast.

Here I was, out here to teach fellow soldiers about spiritual readiness and spiritual fitness, and I’d just listened to a girl tell me that a criminal was steps away, a man with a warrant out for his arrest.

I got notice: my lodging was ready. I scanned the parking lot again. I think I was looking for a man to walk in the Books-A-Million, a shady-looking guy, perhaps, but no one entered the store since after I exited.

Reluctantly, I pulled out of the bookstore parking lot and onto the road that led to my lodging. But I am still wondering what happened/didn’t happen.