Andrew and I recently returned from a conference in Staunton, VA, and even though I was incredibly busy for most of it (I was part of planning & running it), I wanted to share a tidbit with y’all.

On one of the evenings, our dear friends Kelsey & Timothy were visiting us. We had taken time to pop into shops along the town’s main thoroughfare, Beverly Street, (where Kelsey spotted a gorgeous pair of vintage Italian heels that I promptly bought) before settling in at the sleek bar at Zynodoa. The restaurant had been booked for days, so we lucked out by claiming bar seats at soon as they opened for the evening. We ordered cocktails (mine was the Serenity Now: gin, Aperol, thyme syrup, and orange bitters), and a variety of small plates and entrees.

We shared both food and drinks, literally passing them back and forth along the bar, making sounds of enjoyment that very well may have startled other diners. I have two words for you: Brûlée’d cornbread.

By the time we had finished oohing and ahhing over the texture of the fresh pasta, we desperately needed a restorative stroll to keep us from rolling out sleeping bags at the bar.

The street was closed to cars to be used for pedestrian traffic and dining only—evidently something the town does each weekend in warmer weather—and we pointed in every direction as we noticed the town’s truly awe-inspiring architecture, adorable dogs lounging under tables, and folks seriously enjoying themselves out in the perfectly pleasant spring weather.

A few blocks later, we found a lovely wine bar—The Green Room—and ordered our second round of drinks for the evening while standing around a cocktail table placed in what is usually the street. Kelsey and I both ordered The Italian Moped: Cardamaro, white grapefruit, smoked orange, & grapefruit soda. It was delicious, with two gloriously soaked cherries to savor at the end.

After staring at the architecture further up the street while sipping from our glasses, we were compelled to explore more and made our way up the various hilly streets. Gardens beckoned us with both blooms and unworldly scents. We carefully immersed our faces into roses. As porch lights and street lamps began to illuminate, we admired the glow cast upon long verandas, tall turrets, and colorful front doors. From the sidewalk, we spotted spiral staircases and tiled fireplaces through large wavy-glass windows.

Just as darkness was truly setting, we heard a voice ask if we wanted to see inside. We had been looking at so many houses and structures, I had no idea of which one he was referring to, but “Yes!” was the answer regardless. We realized the voice was speaking of the enormous brick Episcopal church sitting behind the person from whom the voice came. The kind gentleman introduced himself as Randy and proceeded to bump fists with us.

He took us in through the church’s basement, flipping light switches as he went—I’ll admit we were all holding our breath each time we moved into yet another dark room—and showed us the foundation, the kitchen, and the preschool rooms. We weren’t expecting this incredibly thorough tour, but Randy knew what he was doing. I’m now convinced he is an ace tour guide. He showed us the more plain areas of the church in order to finally bring us into its chapel and its sanctuary and absolutely knock our freakin’ socks off with its beauty. He even kept the lighting low and to one side of the room, so we could slowly take in each aspect of the space. After we had properly gasped at one part of the space, he proceeded to illuminate another, until light filled the large room.

I wish so badly I could show you photos of this incredible space. We asked about taking them, but Randy wasn’t sure of the preferences of the church. I admired his respect of what is so obviously a precious and beloved space, and appreciated the prompt to soak it in right then and there and commit it to memory. And truly, no photo could do it justice—the vivid blues and golds within the paint scheme, the vibrant stained glass, the plethora of decorated organ pipes, the soaring ceiling and its plentiful arches & angles…

As if Randy hadn’t already made us feel special enough, he then asked us to follow him into a small vestibule with another impressive collection of stained glass. At one end, a rope hung down from the ceiling. When Randy prompted me to ring the church’s bell, I took no time shoving my shopping bag on Kelsey as I made my way toward the rope to give it a couple of pulls. By the time all four of us had given the rope a tug or two, I was hoping the neighbors weren’t throwing curses in our direction. But even if they had, it was worth it.

To end the tour, Randy left the interior lights on and ushered us outside. We could have stepped right outside the vestibule to exit, but Randy told us of a superstition that says one must always exit through the door they entered, lest they be cursed. Not wanting the Episcopal Church to be responsible for any curses, we followed back through the basement. Once back on the sidewalk, we gawked at the illumination of the several windows of stained glass, packed with vibrant hues and beautiful symbolism. After letting us stare in awe for a sufficient period of time, Randy bumped fists with us again and packed up to go home.

I will say that none among our group are religious, but the outstanding beauty of the space and Randy’s kindness moved us. I so very often rush through demanding days, believing I have no time for the unplanned, but Randy so generously gave us a half hour of his time because he sensed we would appreciate it. I like to take my lessons where and when I can, and Randy reminded me of an important lesson.

Once Kelsey and Timothy were making their way back east and we were settling into our hotel for bed, I was a tad disappointed that we didn’t take a single photo of the entire evening. However, those are some of my favorite moments in life—when you are enjoying yourself so much that pausing to take a photo doesn’t even occur to you. Like the image of that church’s sanctuary, it is an evening I will commit to memory. I’d rather have it there than in a photo album anyway.

May we leave room for the unplanned,
Lara