A journey of grief through one act of grace at a time
By Kamryan Collis
December 6, 2023
Sitting in room 122 of Hayworth Chapel with eight other people, I was about to embark on a pilgrimage. This was no vacation. Instead, it was a trip where we would see the world through a purposeful and religious lens. We went around the room introducing ourselves, each of us in search of something different.
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Rev. Dr. Preston Davis suddenly chimed in, “have you all ever heard of the word coddiwomple?” No one answered. He finished his thought. “It means to travel with a purposeful manner to an unknown destination.”
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Immediately, I recognized that this was what I had been doing for the past two months.
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***
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For fall break, advisers Davis and Rev. Dr. Christopher Franks led 12 High Point University students on an annual pilgrimage to Asheville, North Carolina. The purpose of the pilgrimage was to take a look at the world through a religious lens while also taking some time to give back to others. It’s certainly a different way to spend a fall break, and it isn’t for the faint of heart.
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The last time I had been to these mountains was New Year’s Eve earlier this year with my mom. We both loved the crisp mountain air and the endless sea of hills and trees that made you feel like you’d made it home. It was the kind of place that always makes you consider, even if just for a second, a possibility of relocation. Now nine months later I stood forever changed as I braved a new world without her.
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My mother died on August 21 after a three-month struggle with stage four kidney cancer. Looking out at the same sea of mountains and hills with just a little less color, I realized I was here to reclaim a memory and hopefully make some new ones.
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***
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On the second day of our trip, we ventured to downtown Asheville. It was there that we found quaint cafes and local shops that have everything from healing crystals to handmade pottery.
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The rich historical city has cobblestone-lined sidewalks and streets filled with tourists and locals alike. Though just beyond the city square, you can find a population that the city, at times, tries to ignore.
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The homeless population in Asheville is not something that can go unnoticed. On many corners you can see a person sleeping on the ground, the city streets being their home. Local churches advertise the hours of operation for their soup kitchens. A place for people to get a free hot meal throughout the day. Many shelters and resource offices have lines outside the door; some people waiting to get in and others just hanging around with nowhere else to go.
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This is the main reason we were in Asheville on our fall break, to see this side of life. While we wake up every morning to our picturesque views of hills and watch the sun rise and set every day; homeless people here had to think about which area of the city they would rest their head.
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I didn’t realize it at the time, but I too felt displaced with nowhere to go too. Just two weeks before, I had to pack up my own home with all of my memories and beautiful moments I had with my mom. All of it reduced to a few boxes and a ton of trash bags.
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Though I couldn’t fully relate to what it must be like living on the street, I certainly knew what it felt like to not know where your next step would take you.
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On our third day in town, we served at Haywood Street Congregation. It’s more than a shelter and more than a soup kitchen. Here their mantra, according to their website, is “Holy Chaos. Abundant Grace. Welcome Table.”
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They serve people restaurant style with menus listing the different options they can pick from. At Haywood Street the guests are never told ‘no’ and are brought as much food as they wish. The volunteers are called companions and they serve the guests to give them back a sense of normalcy.
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I helped a woman who simply introduced herself as Mrs. Mary. I helped her with the flower arrangements that would adorn the center of every table. Back and forth we hauled the dozen or so boxes from the parking lot into the second dining room. The sea foam green walls seamlessly matched the flowers in the room.
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Mrs. Mary explained how every week they get donations from Trader Joe’s of any extra flowers they have. “Sometimes we get just enough to cover the two dining rooms and other times we have more than we know what to do with,” said Mrs. Mary.
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Standing over the sink with pink carnations in one hand and a pair of gardening shears in the other, I made flower arrangements for each table. It’s simple in practice, but the small act adds just a little more color to their day. I was happy to be a part of that.
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The rest of my day was spent floating around the space in solemn silence, sweeping the hallways and wiping down tables. All in preparation for the following day where we would serve what felt like never-ending plates of food to anyone who needed a hot meal in the area.
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As we left for the day, we prepared ourselves mentally for our ‘walk of awareness.’ We would be led on a different kind of tour of downtown Asheville. A tour through the eyes of a homeless person in the area. Our tour guide Laura, who works with Carolina Cross Connection to provide resources to homeless people in the area, showed us the reality for homeless people in Asheville.
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As the two-hour walking tour came to an end, a man approached the group. Looking disheveled with tears in his eyes, it was evident that he was at a low point right now. He told us how he didn’t have anywhere to stay for the next three months and how he didn’t want to sleep outside in the cold. Begging for help, his story brought tears to the eyes of many students in the group. There was nothing we could do for him. The bus ride back to our rental house was a quiet one as we all processed everything the day presented us with.
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That night, sitting in a circle by the fire, watching it crackle and feeling its warmth, we debriefed over the day. The man from the end of our tour heavy on our hearts, as his story left its mark on each and every one of us. The conversation was thick as we spoke about changes, we wanted to make and the feelings we had about the day. No one really knew what to do, but knowing something needed to be done.
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***
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The next day would be our last day at Haywood Street. Getting there around mid-morning, we were all immediately put to work. I took a job waiting tables. I was given an apron, a pen and a notepad to put in orders. The buzz in the air unsettled me at first as I introduced myself to my tables and began taking orders. However, as I got settled into the groove, I was zipping around tables just like everyone else.
My favorite table by far was this quiet table I had in the back, sitting there was an older man named John wearing a powder blue button up shirt and worn jeans. He sat leaning back against the chair reviewing the menu. At first, he didn’t acknowledge me when I greeted him and only looked up to hand me back the menu.
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“I’ll have a main plate,” said John.
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Moments later I returned with his food and he looked up and smiled, “thank you,” said John. Through the course of the day, he continued to call me over and order more and more food. He would take a bite of things here and there and then ask for something else. Going to check on him again to see if he wanted anything else, he looked up at me and smiled sweetly.
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“Bless you,” John said as he thanked me for being patient with him all day. A classmate and I later prayed with John, both of us placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. The prayer brought him to tears.
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This was abundant grace.
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***
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After lunch everyone gathered in the chapel in the building, the room was filled with dark stained wooden pews. Nearly every seat was full as we all faced the mural that resided at the head of the room.
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Merged high on the sanctuary wall, rested the fresco that told the story of the many people who have passed though those doors. Each face painted on the wall depicted a real person with a real story. The service was as unconventional as every person in that room.
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We sat as the floor was opened for anyone to come up and share a talent or message they had. One man came up and recited a speech he wrote about his faith. Moments later a woman went up and performed “Take me to the King” by Tamala Mann A Capella.
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Sitting in the pews praying in a room full of people who could still smile and have joy despite their circumstance put things into perspective for me. Going into this trip I expected to help others, but I could have never imagined they would help heal something in me.
Haywood Street is special because it’s a place to go where people will meet you where you are. They will never turn you away, only offer you a seat at their open table.
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It was there that I learned that just because you feel lost doesn’t mean you won’t end up where you’re supposed to be.