Sunday morning I got a Facebook message from Jane over at Priddy’s General Store.

She was asking about my dad’s church.

What time did service start?

What was the address?

Now if you know anything about Primitive Baptist churches, you know they don’t exactly advertise much. Most of them have been sitting in the same place so long folks either know where they are… or they don’t.

At first I told Jane, “I think it’s eleven or maybe eleven-thirty, but let me make sure.”

Then I checked with Dad and called her back.

I told her Sandy Ridge Primitive Baptist would start at eleven.

Then I added what most regulars already know:

“Dad normally waits a little while before getting going. Gives folks some grace to get there.”

Jane said, “Oh good,” because she had plans with family later that afternoon.

That’s when I mentioned it would probably be a pretty small crowd.

Truth is, I’m not even sure why I thought that mattered.

Without hesitation Jane said:

“As long as your dad is preaching the word, that is all that matters.”

And she meant it.

Jane said she was seriously thinking about coming.

Mom’s been dealing with some mobility issues lately, though she’s getting better. Dad helps her around, and together they still manage just fine.

Truth is, helping Mom get settled into church gave me a good excuse to spend a little extra time with both of them.

Sure enough, right before service, here came Jane.

Actually, she got there well before most folks.

That gave Mom and Dad plenty of time to sit and visit with her before things got started.

Before long Brother Bobby Moore and his wife came in, and somewhere in the conversation we discovered Brother Bobby frequents Priddy’s too.

That’s how Stokes County works.

You think people are disconnected until you stand still long enough to realize everybody’s lives keep crossing paths in ways you never noticed before.

Jane mentioned again that she might not be able to stay for the whole service because of family plans later that day.

I laughed and told her:

“Well, they usually go till about one-thirty, so feel free to leave whenever you need to.”

Now for folks unfamiliar with old Primitive Baptist churches, that may sound surprising.

But around there, nobody’s watching the clock too hard.

Service unfolds at its own pace.

The singing takes time.

The fellowship takes time.

The spirit takes time.

And apparently Sunday… Jane took the time too.

Because she stayed the whole way through.

Afterwards she told Mom and Dad she had a wonderful time fellowshipping with everybody. She even mentioned making notes for her pastor back home.

Mom later told me Jane left with tears in her eyes.

Now maybe that was because it happened to be Mother’s Day and she was missing her mama.

Maybe she felt the presence of the Holy Spirit.

Or maybe she was simply moved by spending a few hours surrounded by loving people who were genuinely glad she came.

Truth is, I don’t really know.

And honestly, I don’t think everything meaningful in life requires a full explanation.

Sometimes people just need:

a little kindness,

a little stillness,

and a place where nobody expects anything from them except their presence.

These days the world feels loud.

Everybody arguing.

Everybody performing.

Everybody trying to prove something.

But Sunday morning, in a little country church tucked away on Primitive Baptist Church Road in Stokes County, people mostly just sang, prayed, hugged necks, and welcomed somebody they

were happy to see.

And somewhere along the way, folks seemed to leave carrying a little more peace and love than they came in with.

And maybe that’s enough.

Maybe more than enough.

At least, that’s how I remember it.

As Best As I Remember It.