Dr. B. (Part 2)

The Frist Gala is no oridinary soiree, and Chappy and I were honored when chosen to be one of several couples to represent Chappy's employer (UBS) at the event. While this year's sit-down dinner kicked-off the world renowned "Birth of Impressionism", showcasing several pieces of art from Musee d'Orsay, the real show to most attendees is rubbing elbows with the "Who's Who" list of Nashville's rich and famous.....a virtual Southern-Style red carpet. Dr. B., well-known in Nashville circles, was propped against a tall table, elbows planted firmly with drink in hand, when Chappy first noticed him.

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To give a bit of brief history, I am a mom with five children, and for those of you who don't know me yet, my children are my life. You can most often find me donned in worn-out jeans and a simple tshirt while sporting barefeet so I can crawl around on the floor with the little ones on a moment's notice, join my pre-teen gals in an impromptu dance around the house to Michael Buble's "Haven't Met You Yet" or the all time best hits of "Abba", and still be ready to take time to shoot a couple of baskets on the driveway with Caleb (taking his corrective criticism with a smile on my face, of course). Like most doting husbands, Chappy loves to see me dressed up, because over the years it has become a rare occurrence as our family has grown. So, on the evening of the Frist Gala, I crammed my bare feet into high heels and quickly noted that twinkle in my hubby's eyes. Well, suffices to say, that adoring twinkle was quickly replaced by the serious glare of a man on a mission when my husband noted Dr. B.'s presence at the Gala. He went from Casanova to Jason Bourne in 2 seconds flat....from holding my hand on a leisurely stroll while viewing masterpieces of artwork by Monet and Manet to dragging me in my high heels through throngs of Nashvillians in a mere blink.

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"I'm wearing heels, honey", I managed to grit through a toothy smile while being pulled hurriedly through the main hallway. The entire time my mind was reeling as I conjured how I would break my fall with my right arm (since hubby had my left one)....how I would at the same time make sure my skirt did not fly up over my head showcasing the pair of "Spanx" I was wearing to hold all my flab tightly in place....and how if I pulled hard enough I might manage to yank free from Chappy's death grip so he wouldn't continue to mercilessly drag me along behind him without noticing I was flat on my rump.

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Still pressing forward, Chappy answered me loud enough for anyone interested to hear: "I see Dr. B. over there at a table and no one is talking to him right now."

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Roledexing....roledexing....then I remembered him....Dr. B. More motivated now, I forgot about my heels and and my "Spanx" for the time being and put my game face on to join Chappy on his mission.

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Clint-Eastwood Cowboy types typically do not wear monkey suits, but as Chappy and I came to a screeching halt at Dr. B.'s table, it seemed more like we had arrived at a saloon bar from an old Western movie. Just as we arrived, cowboy threw back a sip of his drink, let the glass hit the table with a clunk, and looked up at us with piercing eyes. He obviously had no clue who we were and I am sure was wondering why we were out of breath.

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It was the perfect moment for cowboy doctor to tip his imaginary hat and ask: "What can I do for you folks?" but instead, he said nothing. He just looked at us until Chappy broke the awkward silence:

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"Dr. B., I am Chappy Hollis and this is my wife Melanie....since you have seen thousands of patients in your career, I am sure you will not remember us, but five years ago....." and Chappy recanted the story. Hope's story.

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I stood by Chappy's side as he used his hands to reel the cowboy in to the story. The inflection in his voice would change from a fast paced stormy rush of words to a soft patter when he would speak of his little Hopey and all the struggles she has been through in her short life. A sentimental fool in love with his imperfect daughter, tears rolled from his eyes when he spoke about how God perfectly formed Hope to teach us about a deeper level of His love we would have never known without her being born into our family....Chappy unashamedly let tears drop, one by one, onto the table top without seeming to notice.

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Every once in a while, I would allow my eyes to dart across the table to see how receptive Dr. Cowboy was to the story....to see if "Chappy Bourne On A Mission" was stealing away too much of the Doc's weekend social time or if he had magically become engaged in the tale of a love that has overcome many obstacles. However, the majority of the time I blocked out the hustle of the elite dressed in ballroom garb, the endless chatter about vacation homes and job promotions, to intently look at my husband's face and listen to him pour out his heart about little Hope and about the Creator of the Universe who doesn't make mistakes. The Purest form of love oozed from his lips, and from my perspective, fell onto the ears of a prominent man who was already calculating his response.

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Chappy finished: "Do you remember when you told us that our paths would cross again in the future, and how we would have a mutual understanding in that moment of meeting....how we would both know what others have no clue about..... that we are indeed uniquely blessed beyond measure to have your grandson, Seth and our daughter, Hope in our lives?"

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"This may surprise you, but I do remember; in fact, I remember the appointment well", he responded with a sort of chuckle while nodding his head and swirling the drink he held with both of his hands. Head still dipped down, his eyes shot up at Chappy when he smuggly announced: "But my perspective about how God fits into this is far different than yours."

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To be continued......

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