Six months ago, I was walking the streets of Paris. The City of Light, of Love.
Yet we felt overwhelmed- by apathy, by spiritual suffocation.
Then, we found ourselves in Notre-Dame.
And I stood in front of this window for a long time. The beautiful stained glass, highlighted by sunshine. But what struck me about this particular window was the open pane, with outside light streaming through.
The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it. -John 1:5
24 weeks ago, it made an impact on me. Light breaking through darkness, the promise that God is still present.
Now, it is all I can cling to.
Paris,
I grieve for you. I grieve because of the darkness' chokehold grip around you. I grieve that I wasn't able to fully appreciate your culture as I breathed it in.
And there is nothing I can say, other than I'm praying that light breaks through the darkness.
And I see it in your people.
I see it in Ashu, the Latin Quarter crepe maker who befriended us. Who we may or may not have visited three times.
In the man painting beautiful landmarks along the Seine, who humbly smiled as we ooh-ed and aah-ed over his work.
In the Crepe Lady who brought over pitchers of water to our table in the back of her tiny restaurant, when bottles of water would have cost us a fortune.
In the cook at the Mediterranean restaurant who waited patiently as we tried to decide between baklava or falafel.
In the security guard at the Louvre, who patiently tried to help us find a painting we didn't know the name of, but could only describe in a broken English-French mix of language.
These are the faces of Paris. Not of terror, but of humble love. These are pieces of light breaking through, reflecting the love of a big, big God who will not stand to see His world crumble.
The darkness has not overcome.
The darkness has not overcome.
The darkness has not overcome.
