I was in the midst of locking up the college buildings for the Christmas break when I got a phone call.

“Hello, this is Security.”
“This is Dr. Wilkes over in Smith Hall. There is a strange man down in the lobby on first floor playing a bagpipe.”
“Excuse me ?”
“There is some strange man downstairs playing a bag pipe !”
“Okay. I’ll be right over and check it out.”

Man ! This was supposed to be the last day before my extended break for the Christmas holidays. My mind, heart, and body were exhausted and so ready for this break. All I wanted was a nice quiet night, just locking stuff up. We had done long overtime hours with the Christmas festivities for the past two weeks. Then when the final exams started, the college kids do some really stupid things in their processes of unwinding or studying. My patience level was at its limit.

It is my second year since getting out of prison. Before incarceration, I had had a strong faith and belief that I was doing God’s will and work. Then, through a series of unforeseeable circumstances, I ended up loosing my career, my home, my small farm…everything. For awhile, I was able to trudge on in my old beliefs, but after the first two years incarcerated, I had began to really struggle with my communication with God and with other ‘believers’. The church on the outside had essentially abandoned me after my arrest. The several individuals I thought were Christian friends turned around and robbed me blind and then dropped a law suit on me. I was disillusioned with church, God, people, and faith.

Now out of prison for 2 years, I had recently been trying the prayer thing again, feeling sometimes fake, always wary, and very unsure if anyone was even listening. There were a few tentative prayers that I offered up, but nothing drastic. I had been slam dunked big time. I wasn’t about to set it up to happen again. What little tendril of faith that was left I treated with kid gloves. I’m not sure if I was more afraid of loosing my faith or discovering that there really wasn’t any need for it after all. There were possibilities afoot for me to advance in a career. There were also bills a-plenty, and family problems galore. I was just ready for some quiet down time. All I wanted was a quiet last shift. Now, there was a man with a bagpipe in the administration building, after everyone should have been gone ?

As I rounded the corner of the building in the security golf cart, I could sure enough hear what sounded like bagpipes. Driving up to the glass doors, I could see inside the darkened foyer a tallish, thin sandy haired fellow that had recently joined the history staff at the college. Sure enough, he was blowing on a bagpipe, slowly keeping time with marching feet. I entered the foyer, listening. He quit for a bit, we chatted, and then I proceeded up to the third floor to reassure the other professor that , yes, he was, in fact, ‘legal’. After I went back downstairs, he seemed reluctant to play more while I was there, so I exited, getting in my cart, and pulled over into a darkened shaded area, just outside the building, where he couldn’t see me.

I could still hear the pipes. He seemed to be playing for the joy of making his own music. I sat there in the warm, mist tinged air, looking down the entrance boulevard with its white Christmas lights aglow like miniature nebulas. The twin columns at the entrance to the fountain were outlines in soft yellow and white lights, contrasting the dark brick. I could hear the school fountain softly gurgling, and see the water cascading and sparkling in its night lights. My favorite old oak tree stretched its branches in dark silhouette against the other lights.

Permeating into my very soul, I could feel his serenity, his joy, his peace as he played the pipes, not for an audience, but as an expression of his own inner being. The feelings were that deep inner, gut heavy, almost to tears oneness with…another soul. You may call me crazy, but I believe that this was a set up. God didn’t infuse me with the overwhelming sense of peace and positivity which I used to get during my prayers and communing with Him. Instead, He allowed me to share in another soul’s depth and joy, through unspoken communication. He spoke to my soul from another’s.

How many times have you and I, when we were thought unobserved, just for the joy of it, belted out a song, or danced a jig, or talked with a bird or squirrel, or just simply laughed out loud. Was there someone listening to us then, someone watching us, and sharing in our joy…peace…life? Yeah, I still have difficulty with that faith thing and communication with God. But I don’t think He does.

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