The little chapel on the side of the road between our drive from Fripp Island to Beaufort continually caught my eye.

A simple sign outside shared the mission of the little chapel.

Pray as you pass.

So I did.

Every time we passed I prayed.

On our last day there I had Chris stop.  He pulled onto a patch of skimpy grass next to the chapel on the side road and I popped out to investigate.

The little chapel is sparsely furnished and the door sticks a little bit but I opened it and walked inside.

It was surprisingly cool on a fairly warm day and as I counted the 26 wooden chairs that sat in the chapel I was drawn into the feeling of this tiny space.

How many other motorists had passed by and prayed?

How many other visitors had found their way into the tiny chapel and sat in the chair I sat in and offered up some prayers?

Did the ancient roll of paper like carpet get used anymore?  Did brides walk down that white thread of carpet down the tiny aisle to pledge their love to their future husband?  What stories could it tell?

Who put that sprig of lavender in the lone plate on the wall that covered where the old stove used to be?

Who was the last person to use the lectern?   What did they say?  Did they preach?  Did they lead the people there in songs?

I put the questions aside.

I sat.

I prayed.

Certainly like many other motorists and tourists who had passed that way previously.

I prayed as I passed.