Black Diamond Road


Because I do better with a plan, I studied the map of Black Diamond Road online beforehand so I wouldn’t get lost. I drove the car to a higher elevation, deep into the bowels of a dark mountain.”Hmm, let’s see,” I said to the poor visibility.There was a life lesson here and I wasn’t going to miss it.

This curvy road, like the relational roads of our various lives, was slick, unlit, misty. A little gleam would have been helpful here. I have found found that, at certain points along the way, my relational road is like the Black Diamond. Unless someone-a parent, a friend, a guide, or if they fail, a paid worker-goes to the trouble of installing a dependable light and actually switches the beam to “on”, I have great difficulty finding my way. Unless, that is, I am able to turn on my inner light…I know it’s in there. Now, if I can just find the switch…” At about that time I considered turning my paid-off car around in the dark because I thought to have missed the place,

I turned on my inner light and reasoned, “It has to be here somewhere. I’m not giving up now.”  I stopped in the middle of the wet road and peered through the rainy windshield. Was this it? Off to the right stood a sign, and on it were the words, “Black Diamond Community Hall.” I could barely make it out for all the cars.


Here in the desolate dark, outside this smallish brown building were parked-and I exaggerate, but work with me here-five thousand six hundred and ninety two vehicles. Mine was the five thousand six hundred and ninety third. I could see that I would have to get creative with the parking.

I walked in, paid my $8, and sat along the chair-lined perimeter of the room. The floors were made of wood, the grain of which led the eye to the front where the musicians stood at the ready on a small stage. The place was packed with people of all ages, shapes, and sizes, and more were still streaming into the hall.

I sat alone and felt awkward. I can do this, right? Until very recently, I was a professional musician in Michigan, a classical pianist and seasoned vocalist, a teacher, a mentor to many. I enjoyed the company of fascinating people, people I loved who loved me back. I ran a successful  music studio, performed extensively in stateside and in Europe with the Detroit Concert Choir. My opera buddy, Patricia, and I had season tickets to the Michigan Opera Theater. I was blessed with two bright, successful children. I enjoyed living inside a custom home with a landscaped yard, and an attached garage.There was one thing, though. The husband was detached.

Wait. The last sentence colored everything else that went before. In truth, those words should have been written first, but sometimes we don’t realize a thing like that until it’s been realized last. This detachment proved, over time, to darken all else that went on inside the house with the attached garage, and it is traceable from the beginning to the end. If I had only had some light then. And here I sat, all singular-like and unknown, unsure, in a new place. In reality, though, I had to admit my current sitch at the Black Diamond Grange Hall was much like the marriage-and I use the term loosely-relationship I left.

“Hi, I’m Zoe!” A young woman extended her hand. “Is this your first night?” My negative thoughts were ejected right out of the cockpit of my mind.

“Yes, why, yes, it is, Zoe.” And I introduced myself to her.

“Would you like to be my partner tonight?” This was a lucky stroke. What was I supposed to say? “Uh, no, thanks, I enjoy sitting alone on the sidelines?”

“Absolutely!” I said. “I have no clue what I’m doing.”

“No worries,” she said. “I’ll be your partner and I’ll help you. It’s easy and fun. You can do it!”

Well, shoot dang, maybe I could, with that kind of encouragement!