Postscript: Judy keeps the door open

“It’s open to anyone?” I asked.

“Every Tuesday night from 6:00 to 7:00. Stay as long as you want!” Judy said.

So I came the next Tuesday. Judy keeps the door open, and she puts a little sign on the sidewalk, inviting anyone to come in. I arrived a little late, after others had come, and I quietly took a seat, imagining I might sit there for 20 minutes or so.
But there was quiet music playing, and the chapel was so peaceful. It was old and small, and the pews were dark oak. There was an altar with round, golden icons over it and candles burning on it. The windows were stained glass. It smelled like old churches do, at least ones where they occasionally burn incense. The sun was still up, and the afternoon light made patterns on the stained glass. Before I knew it, Judy rang a large singing bowl, which made a resonant sound that hung in the air, and the hour was up.

“I hope you come again,” Judy said. And I did.

All summer, the attendance varied. Some people came in for only a few minutes. Some stayed the entire hour. Every week, I arrived promptly at 6:00 and took a seat in the front.

And the hour became important to me. It’s hard to say why, because meditation is not so much a thing I do, as a thing I don’t do. My busy brain quiets for a time. Thoughts come and float away, and very slowly I feel emotions floating to the top, things that are important, things I should have noticed, things I might have forgotten.

And at the end, Judy rings the bell.

Then I left for Mexico. I told Judy I’d be gone for a while. But the first Tuesday we were back, I went to meditation. There was no one there but Judy.

“Is meditation happening?” I asked.

“Of course,” she said. “Sometimes we get more people than other times. Last week, I was here by myself.”

So Judy sat quietly, and so did I. And no one joined us on that cold winter night. And that is how it has been ever since. The sidewalk is cleared of snow. The little sign sits by the open door so anyone walking by will know they are welcome. But this winter, it has just been Judy and me, sitting at opposite sides of the tiny chapel for an hour in silence.

“Does it bother you to open the chapel for just one person?” I asked. I felt bad about Judy lighting the candles and sitting for an hour with only me in attendance – when I’m not even an Episcopalian.

“No,” Judy said. “I need it, too.”

And the next week it was the same. The quiet was the same. The same dark outside. The same smell of burning candles and a sense of peace that seemed to settle right into my bones.

“Thank you,” I told Judy again. “Thank you for doing this.”

“It’s my pleasure,” she said.

And people say that, you know. But I wondered if Judy wasn’t telling the truth.

Till next time.

See past postscript!
Postscript: More badges (January 2026)

• Facebook
• ShareCopied to clipboard