Church of the Frescoes: E.H. Sloop Chapel

On July 2nd, I visited my fourth location on the North Carolina Fresco Trail -- E.H. Sloop Chapel in Crossnore at the Crossnore Children's Home and School. 

~*~

I did not want to drive through Boone, but that's the route I drove to get to Crossnore. I thought maybe since App State is out, it wouldn't be as crowded as when school is in. And it wasn't as crowded, but it was still crowded. Highway 105, a mostly-two-lane, not-to-curvy mountain road, is always busy. July 2nd was no exception. But I enjoyed getting a view of Grandfather Mountain and driving by Profile Trailhead. I have fond memories of both. 

It's a beautiful day for a drive, especially through the mountains. I arrive at Crossnore and drive onto the campus and grounds of Crossnore School. It's a pristine campus, but not in a stuffy way. It's welcoming, homey, peaceful. It feels cared for with love. 

As my manner is, my first task is to find a bathroom. (Haha... Maybe I should write a book for women, "Where to Squat.") I've learned that not all these little chapels have a public bathroom. 

I see a small building. It's bathrooms. Yay! But they are locked. I stand out in the parking area and look around searching for any bathroom-looking buildings. As I stand peering, two young boys around 10 years old show up on their bicycles. 

"Hey there... I like your bikes."

They smile. We talk a little about bike-riding, the outdoors, and mountains. They say that they like it here at Crossnore. One of the boys shares, "I used to run with my dad in the mountains. One day we ran 10 miles!"

"Wow! That's a long way!" I respond realizing his sharing may be an innocent exaggeration, but maybe not. My heart feels for both boys. I wonder what/if something had happened to the one boy's father and that's why he lives here. But I dare not ask, of course. 

I did ask something else...

"Do y'all know if there is a public bathroom in the chapel?"

"Yes!" one boy excitedly answers providing me detailed directions on how to get there. 

We say our friendly good-byes, and away they ride on their bicycles. All three of us are smiling.

I climb into Sir Edward the Explorer and drive to the parking area for the chapel. There are no humans anywhere to be seen. 

~*~

I enter the chapel through the handicapped entrance toward the back of the chapel, near the pulpit area. I turn left to make my way to the front of the chapel where the stairs are located that go down to where the bathrooms are. 

There, above the front entrance doors, I see the large fresco entitled Suffer the Little Children.

I pause momentarily taking in the breathtaking scene which includes the beauty of the chapel itself with its deeply colored wooden pews and walls, its windows, and the deep red carpet that leads from the chapel entrance to the pulpit. 

Then I follow the boy's perfect directions downstairs to the bathrooms.

After my bathroom visit, I spend probably fifteen minutes or so downstairs viewing the various paintings. I enter The Miracle of Healing room. Hanging on the wall is a painting which appears to me to be the woman who touched the border of Jesus' garment and was healed. In front of the painting is a kneeler for prayer placed on top of a small throw rug. That is all that is in the room...other than myself.

My critical mind notices the crowd around the woman isn't large, as stated in the gospels. But that's okay with me. The focus in the painting is on the healing and this woman's reaching out for it. 

The room feels sacred, holy... 

My heart feels open... 

Life feels large... 

I take in the painting and enter into it... 

I know I shouldn't touch the painting, and normally I wouldn't. But in that moment, I very lightly, deliberately, and quickly touched the hem of his garment with my index finger. 

I have touched his garment. May I too be healed...

I make my way back upstairs. Again, like with my visits to other frescoes, I am a lone human in this unique, beautiful, sacred chapel. I press the button for the narration about the fresco and how it came to be here at E.H. Sloop Chapel.  I take a seat in a front pew and enter the fresco as I listen to the recorded narration....

~*~

The Miracle of Healing

Suffer the Little Children

Suffer the Little Children

E.H. Sloop Chapel replica

E.H. Sloop Chapel 

~*~

I take a different route, avoiding Boone, for my drive back home. I end up on roads that I haven't driven in decades. The sky is that gorgeous blue with white friendly clouds. There are few vehicles on my route. These kinds of drives are a part of these fresco visits.

I stop at Brown Mountain Overlook on Hwy. 181. I lift my small cooler out of Edward and make my way to one of the picnic tables to eat my supper. Of course, I look around for a place to maybe use the green-leaves relief station. I see a path into the woods. Yay! 

I meet a family who moved to Morganton from Mexico some years back. We exchange hellos and talk about the mountains. They love this area.

I deeply experience Carolina Rolling By...  

My heart overflows with gratitude...

On July 6th, I post a short thread on Twitter about my trip...

Table Rock and Hawk's Bill

Overlooking Brown Mountain

~*~

Carolina Rolling By by Mipso ....

Zigzag....

 July 6, 2024

Hubby and I took a day trip to Doughton Park on the Blue Ridge Parkway. It was our fifth of five mountain daytrips between June 16th and July 6th. It's most always 10 to 15 degrees cooler in the mountains; a refreshing respite from 90-to-100-degree temperatures at lower elevations. 

~*~

Again, I drive. 

I love to drive mountain roads. 

I'm thankful I can still do it. Sir Edward the Explorer is a comfy ride, though he's not a quiet ride. But he takes good care of me.

Again, there are hardly any cars on the Parkway. 

As I sit here currently at the keyboard recalling that day, I feel refreshed...

Wide open spaces...

Ocean of mountains all around...

Cattle peacefully grazing in the distance...

Sky...

Clouds...

Quiet, oh so quiet...

Sound inviting? 

It sure does to me. 

First thing is to find the bathrooms. (Lol. Seems to be a theme in my travel posts.) I know exactly where they are, kind of hidden down a short descent. Next, we don our skin with anti-bug ointment. Maybe we put on sunscreen too. 

I change out from sandals into socks and hiking shoes, grab my cap to help protect from ticks, and strap on my hiking hip pack after retrieving from it the referee whistle which hangs on a strap. I hang the strap around my neck. None of these tasks are simple due to my finger/hand/arm disability. But I manage. I grab my trekking poles. No need today for rain gear. 

We see no other humans at the park. We did hear a few vehicles slowly drive through. 

It feels so gloriously peaceful. 

Hubby hikes on ahead of me, as is standard whenever I walk with folks. And I'm perfectly fine with that; I walk painstakingly slow. One reason I wear a whistle is in case I fall, or something. It's a loud whistle. 

He wasn't too far ahead when I hear him exclaim, "Whoa!"
I can't see him due to trees and a curve in the trail, 

Wonder what that's about.  

Hubby comes into view and says, "There's a snake coiled on the trail. It hissed at me." 

"Oh!!" I respond with delight.

What can I say? I like snakes. I used to handle a corn snake, Checkers, when I worked at Discovery Place in Charlotte. 

Together, we make our way along the trail until we come upon the snake. He (though it could have been a she) was still coiled. But not his whole body was coiled, just the front part. And he looked relaxed, not threatened at all. He didn't hiss.

Copperhead? I wondered. 

A moment after we stopped a respectful distance away, I speak respectfully to Snake, "I know this is your territory. But may we please pass through?"

As I finished my request, Snake gracefully uncoiled and zigzagged across the trail letting us pass.

Just call me "snake-whisperer." Haha.  
I click a few pics. 

"Wow..." we both respond to the encounter.

"I think that may have been a copperhead. Glad he hissed at you."

"Sure thing," Hubby replies with relief. 

We hike to the top of the hill. I'm glad I'm strong enough to trek the 1-mile round trip. 

The hike is wonderful...

Refreshing and rejuvenating...

Once back at Sir Edward, I change back into my sandals.

Then I look at the snake pictures.

I say Hubby's name followed by, "Uh, um...I think that was a timber rattler..." 

He gazes at me like, "Really?" 

Hubby's hearing is slightly impaired, so he may not be able to distinguish a rattle from a hiss. 

"Look at this picture..."
It's a picture of the snake's rattle... 

~*~

I later learned that the coil pose that we witnessed is a resting posture as the snake awaits prey to cross its path. Rattlesnake bites in humans are rare.

This link shares the symbolism of rattlesnakes: 7 Rattlesnake Spiritual Meanings & Symbols

~*~

Thoughts and sighs.....

Here we go again... 

The thought ran through my head last night, with a sigh.

What was I bemoaning? 

Another election year, specifically with Trump. 

More thoughts continued...

I don't like election years. 

Rhetoric from the left. Rhetoric from the right. Each camp accusing the other camp of the same stuff, i.e.: "hate speech," "division," "lying, "communists," "nazis," and more.

It so much reminds me of my cult/anti-cult days. 

I think I'm triggered by all this craziness.

Another sigh...

Cult and anti-cult were like two sides of the same coin. We're right; they're wrong. We're good; they're bad. Our motives are pure; their motives are evil. Black; white. No room for nuance or consideration that the "other" may be right, at least about some things.

The thoughts above were triggered after the July thirteenth assassination attempt on Trump and the fist-up, bloody-eared iconic photo. Another feather in Trump's hat making him a kind of mythical human protected by divine intervention. Was that the case? If so, where was the divine intervention for the father, husband, and fire chief who sacrificed his life to save his family? What of the two other mass shootings later that same evening? Not to mention the oh-so-many children who have been killed by gunfire.

~*~

The week before July 13th, I had listened to a couple podcasts critical of The Way International's (TWI's) past. The day after listening to those, I received a text from an ex-Way friend with links to some old (1993-'94) home videos of showing family life at Way properties. I also watched some of the current YouTube videos from The Way. 

As I watched the '93-'94 home videos, my brain took me back to that timeframe in The Way. (I was involved from 1977 - 2005.) Watching the videos, a viewer might think that TWI sounds like a wonderful Chirstian group with which to be involved. The grounds are beautiful. The children and people all seem so happy. The Rock of Ages looks like a lot of fun...and it was; I was there.

Yet in reality, behind the scenes, sinister acts were being doled out; mainly, secret manipulative sexual favors for TWI's top leadership. I say "mainly," but that doesn't include the indoctrination of The Way being the "true household of God," the fear of devil-spirit possession if one leaves "the household," of the obedience to leadership, of the financial-giving command of at least 10% of one's income (more then 10% if one really desired spiritual understanding), and other stuff. 

Then, if one listens to the critical podcasts, a different picture of The Way is painted. Yet that information also is one-sided, and part of it is inaccurate. A listener may wonder why anyone could have stayed with The Way. The '93-'94 videos could show part of the why.

These two duplicitous Way "realities,' which I'm well aware of...

I don't know how to describe exactly how or what I felt afterward as I pondered them, except that of curiosity. The appearance that all is wonderful, when it isn't. Not that unusual really. I don't hang all my dirty laundry out there. But neither do I deny it. Denial of such can play a part in manipulation -- when an organization or individual denies (or exaggerates) their past.

So, how does someone know who or what to believe? Boy, that's a deep question -- beliefs and where they emanate from. 

The times I've been falsely accused, I've responded as truthfully as I could without exposing someone else's dirty laundry. But anyone learning about such accusations decides who and what to believe. 

Such was the case with one of my (now ex) mental health therapists. I have no doubt that probably many folks believe/ed him over me (except for those who were privy to the whole story and to the therapist's past). All I could do was to write a response to many of his accusations. The rest was/is left up to the reader.

~*~

So why am I triggered by Trump? 

I think because Trump reminds me too much of my past cult involvement and of that ex-mental health therapist whom I mention above who tried to assassinate my character with outright lies in at least 12 different online rants.

Both the founder of The Way and its second president regularly condemned, disdained, mocked, self-righteously judged, and derided people who left The Way or rejected Way doctrine. We, and we alone, had the truth. We were the true household of God. I not only believed that, I knew it, until I discovered that I was wrong.

My ex-therapist (mentioned above) published his smear pieces almost one year after I had filed an official complaint with his state board. After his smear attempts, the state investigator turned things over to the state prosecutor. But then the state had a difficult time locating him because the ex-therapist skipped state shortly after publishing his smear pieces and after a previous part-time employee took him to small claims court for not paying the employee. (That employee never got paid.) I was later a witness for the state at the ex-therapist's state board licensing hearing. The ex-therapist did not show for the hearing. He ended up losing his license. Though I was the only client to file a complaint, I was not the only client harmed.

As I state in a post where I share a bit about the similarities between Trump and the ex-therapist: In one of Knapp's thirteen 2011 online smear pieces, he made a statement, "Game on." But he was the only one playing a game. He lied. He threatened. He made himself out as a victim. He name-called. He assigned evil motives. He rallied his supporters, until he then turned on most of them.

Trump's behavior and rhetoric exhibits similar qualities described above.

As the saying goes, "If it walks like a duck and talks like a duck, it's (probably) a duck."

I rationalized my ex-cult leaders. I rationalized some of my ex-therapist's behavior, extending the benefit of the doubt, until I too got caught in his bullseye. 

~*~

So, cult stuff was floating around in my head entangled with the political stuff. 

Thus, I think, I've been triggered. 

Oh, how lovely. 

What can I do to help me feel/be more grounded as the months unroll toward the November election and beyond? 

• Limit my political news intake.
• Read books or articles that have helped me in the past. 
• Engage with life beyond the screen. Too much screen life can cause life to look narrow and small, when in reality, there's a big, wide world of discovery out there. So, go for that Carol. That is where you feel the most connected. 
• Don't be afraid of any trigger-responses. Thank them for having helped me at one time. Ask what they are trying to teach me now. Then, listen.
• Remember the BITE model. Behavior, information, thought, emotional manipulation or control. If I feel myself being pulled in any of those directions, stop. Pay attention. Ask questions (not necessarily with someone else, though there a few folks I trust with my inner-most challenges).
• Music and movement.
• Prayer and meditation.
• Long drives in the country and mountains.
• Continue to visit the frescoes on the North Carolina Fresco Trail.
• Visits via phone or in-person with friends and family.
• Help out local folks who are in need as I am able.
• Spread kindness.
• Keep writing.
• And remember the words of C.S. Lewis:

...In other words, do not let us begin by exaggerating the novelty of our situation. 

Believe me, dear sir or madam, you and all whom you love were already 

sentenced to death before the atomic bomb was invented: and quite a high 

percentage of us were going to die in unpleasant ways. We had, indeed, one very 

great advantage over our ancestors — anesthetics; but we have that still. It 

is perfectly ridiculous to go about whimpering and drawing long faces because 

the scientists have added one more chance of painful and premature death to a 

world which already bristled with such chances and in which death itself was 

not a chance at all, but a certainty. 

This is the first point to be made: and the first action to be taken is to pull 

ourselves together. If we are all going to be destroyed by an atomic bomb, let that 

bomb when it comes find us doing sensible and human things praying, working, 

teaching, reading, listening to music, bathing the children, playing tennis, chatting 

to our friends over a pint and a game of darts—not huddled together like 

frightened sheep and thinking about bombs. They may break our bodies (a 

microbe can do that) but they need not dominate our minds...  ~C.S. Lewis, 1948

~*~~*~

Addendum:

8/07/24

I began a project last week: to identify the similarities between Trump and my experiences with The Way and with John Knapp. To help me ferret through these similarities, I have decided to reread the book The Dangerous Case of Donald Trump. I want to be as neutral as I can in this process which, of course, is a challenge. What helps me to maintain neutrality (as best I can) is to recall when I publicly addressed Knapp's accusations and when I filed an official complaint on Knapp, an ex-mental health therapist. In both instances I listed the facts of what happened and then listed my responses to those happenings. I had to do similar at his licensing board hearing when I was a witness for the state. (Click here for a deep dive into the timeline of events.) 

Today, I perused some things on my blog that I've written in the past. I find them helpful in navigating the craziness that abounds on Twitter/X and elsewhere on the digital stage. (I still prefer "Twitter." Sorry Elon.) 

Below is a list of some of those previous ramblings. I may expand this list as time goes on.

July 4, 2016: What is Truth? 

December 13, 2016: "Can a leopard change his spots?"

March 22, 2017: Rights and Lefts

July 10, 2017: Hush Patrol (an excerpt) 

August 17, 2017: Contrasts and comparisons...

October 21, 2017: Abnormal normals

September 21, 2017: Far-middle

November 28, 2017: Reality and boredom: "cult of continuous stimulation"

July 5, 2020: Bane in my quiver...

Church of the Frescoes: West Jefferson

Since June 20th, I have visited two more churches along the North Carolina Fresco Trail. One of these, St. Mary's Episcopal in West Jefferson, I have visited two different times. One time solo on June 20th, and one time with Hubby on June 22nd.

Each trip has been deeply moving and magical. The drives and stops along the way, the wildlife and nature, the few folks I/we met, and encounters with the sacred art-masterpieces and the history behind them. 

I am retemorizing (to retain by memorizing) scripture again, scriptures that comfort me or give me strength, scriptures that remind me of what is real in my life. Does that mean I have reconverted to Christianity? I guess it depends on one's interpretation of what Christianity means. 

• I do not believe that the Bible, even as originally written, is without error. I believe it was written by humans as records of their lives, experiences, visions, sufferings, triumphs, beliefs, and hopes. 
• If Jesus' offering, execution, and resurrection are factual, then I take the position that Jesus paid the full price for every human and that all will enter those pearly gates someday. It (God's salvation via Christ, if factual) is THAT BIG; salvation is not by any work or human endeavor. And believing takes work. 
• I prefer the word "Spirit" to the word "God." I don't think of Spirit as a heavenly father, necessarily. But rather a companion, maybe? It's more like a force or energy, and it is personal. Beyond, within, surrounding any life (and even inanimates) there is a force or energy at its core. Will humankind ever invent a means by which that force can be measured? I don't think so; there are things that cannot be measured by us but can be experienced.
•  I think many works of man are inspired by Spirit; these inspired works are not just limited to Bible believers. Spirit is not revealed in just one book.
• If God/Spirit does not exist, that's okay. I still find comfort in fixing my eyes on that which is not seen (as stated in II Corinthians 4:18). 
• I do not believe in a God who inhumanely punishes, such as a place of torment in a burning hell.

That's enough for now...

Maybe I'll add more to the list later...

~*~

On the trips to West Jefferson each time, I/we visited Mount Jefferson State Natural Area for a short hike and to eat our carry-along food and snacks. Again, there were very few humans, and the ones I/we met seemed to be good folks including some bikers from The Phoenix Motorcycle Club which "promotes sane, sober, and safe motorcycling, to provide assistance and information to those who wish to conquer the slavery of addiction and to carry the message to the addict who still suffers." "Phoenix" does not refer to the city in Arizona, but rather the mythical bird who rises from the ashes.  

Below are pictures from St. Mary's in West Jefferson from my solo trip on June 20, the day of the summer solstice. I was alone in the chapel and tickled the ivories on the baby grand, which inspired a purchase for our home which I may blog about later. Please note that I am very aware that some (most?) of my pictures are blurry. I am not a photographer, and all my pictures are taken with an old SE iPhone. Not to mention that my hands often tremble when holding the phone to click a pic. 

1. The model for Mary was the artist's (Benjamin F. Long IV) first fresco in North Carolina after his return from Italy. Long's wife, who was pregnant at the time, was the model for Mary, except for Mary's face. The model for Mary's face was an anonymous mountain girl. Long chose to depict a solar eclipse for several reasons. 

2. In the fresco of John the Baptist, a small bumblebee is frescoed in the lower right corner. A bumblebee was flying around as the artists were working on the fresco; somewhat of a nuisance it was. Long wanted to memorialize that bee. What better place than in the fresco of the man who ate locusts and wild honey. 

3. I am not fond of pictures of Jesus' execution. But this one took my breath away. (These frescos in general take my breath away. Their depth and dimensions are lifelike.) What I like about this one is the background of Jesus in his resurrected and returning body. It's captivating and moving. Long does not usually sign his religious frescoes, but he did put his initials on the lower part of the cross.  

4. "The Laughing Christ" is a painting, not a fresco. Following is the story of this painting from a description that hangs beside the painting...

One Sunday morning in January of 1975, Father Stewart did not come to conduct services at his Melbourne Beach, Florida church. He had had a serious brain-stem stroke, and doctors could give little encouragement for his recovery. Prayer vigils were set up near and far. Father Stewart suffered intensely for three days, then something extraordinary began to happen. Within a two-hour period, vital signs went back to normal. He thought our Lord was standing back of him at the head of his bed, laughing uproariously, like a man who has just caught that big bass, and not laughing at him but with him as the healing was taking place. The following Sunday the doctors dismissed him, and Father Stewart walked from the hospital with his family to the car. His doctors said, "Give God the glory." The young artist, Bo Bartlett, was sensitive to this miraculous healing and therefore we have the painting of "The Laughing Christ." 

5. A short video.

Mary with Child

John the Baptist
Bumblebee in lower righthand corner

The Crucifixion

"The Laughing Christ"
A painting by Bo Bartlett