How We Handle Space
A Space to Call Your Own
Among Quakers, the story is told of an urban Friend who visited a Meeting House in a small country town. Though fallen into disuse, it was architecturally a lovely building, and the city Quaker decided to visit it for Sunday meeting although he was told that only one or two Quakers still attended meetings there.
That Sunday he entered the building to find the meeting hall completely empty, the morning sun shafting through the old, twelve-paned windows, the rows of benches silent and unoccupied.
He slipped into a seat and sat there, letting the peaceful silence fill him. Suddenly he heard a slight cough and, looking up, saw a bearded Quaker standing near his bench, an old man who might well ...