: Not your mom's French doors
I lack the eloquence necessary to describe the beauty of
Paris. I will leave it to your knowledge of Monet and Voltaire. Their work does
not exaggerate. It really is that
extravagant. I have to crane my neck to get a view of some of the ceilings, or
the ornate embellishment of the sculptured buildings.
But what stops me in my tracks are the doors. I have been on
plenty of runs where I will come to a halt to snap a picture-or make note to
come back with my Diana. I don’t know what it is, I am enamored by them. Sometimes they do not match the house
at all. They are of odd shapes and pop colors. Some are wide as if they are
still opening for chariots everyday. Some are so small I swear the residents
are hobbits.
As a kid, I spent a lot of time at Lowe’s. my parents were always remodeling, and
I remember playing with my sister in the chandelier and light section because
it was next to the door section. My mom always talked about how important good
doors were- pointing out pretty ones, and saying she would like to have French
doors. So at 6 I had images of what I thought “French doors” were. They were
wood with glass on the front. I spent more time at Lowe’s than Toys R US, but that’s ok because it is more useful
now to navigate a hardware store than the Barbie section.
Then I came to France and realized Lowe’s lied, I have not
seen one door that is wood with glass on the front.
I swear this blog is not about doors. well not literally.
It was Sunday morning in Paris and I creeped through the
house to see if the family was up. I asked the parents if they could take me to
Hillsong Church the day before and I was hoping they remembered. They didn’t. I
slumped back to my flat and starting reading the word. Praying, asking God to
OPEN DOORS for me to be a light to this family. Not just how I serve them and
care for their Children but to share the Gospel.
Minutes later I heard a knock on my door. It was Fred, the
Dad.
"Allo Teephuny! Are you ready? I am taking you to the church."
I was surprised that he wanted to stay with me and not drop
me off. Trying hard not to show him my excitement like I just “won him to the
other side” I said I would save him a seat.
And like water
to my soul I heard the band. They were singing in English- it had been so long
since I had had fellowship with other Christians. I had been in Paris for over a month and not met one fluent
English speaker, or Christian. Regardless of language barriers though I was with
family because they were worshipping the Living God. I couldn’t wipe the smile
of my face.
I think Fred noticed that there was something different
about this church. His face was surprised, and he kept saying wow! Cool! . I
was still nervous though. Fred does not speak good English he knows very little
about me and my faith. Hillsong is
a pretty charismatic atmosphere esp, in their worship. They began to pray and
all hands shot up. I thought “oh
no” Fred is going to think I am in a cult. Then I started worrying about what
the message was going to be about . Then his hand shot up! I heard God say: Hey Tiff, you got
him through the door- I can take it from here .
I relaxed. And of course they start talking about tithing. I
cringed. He leaned over and said “ I’ve never heard a church talk about money.
We give but we don’t know why. I like this” and then I relaxed again.
The sermon was about asking seeking and knocking. A flood of
images I had taken with my Diana and my mind of these beautiful French doors
spread a smile on my face. It was
about coming to God with our needs, approaching the door with confidence
because of what Jesus had done. We don’t have because we don’t ask.
As we got up to leave, he turned to me and said- “I was
moved. It was like my insides were crying.” I said yes, me too.
As we walked
out the door, Fred leaned over and said decidedly- “I am bringing my
family here”.
 |
| This is Fred, The Dad. in Notre Dame. |
Later, Fred took me to Notre Dame with the rest of the
family. He told Valerie all about the service but in French so I couldn’t
really understand what he thought about it. As we were walking through the
crowded cathedral and looking at
dead saints relics through glass Valerie told me that Fred had told her “his faith was
returning, He renounced God when he was younger when his family fell apart. “
I
did not know this.
And then we rounded the corner, where the crown of thorns
lie in glass.
THE crown of thorns. The ones that splintered my Jesus.
People were talking all around me, some to me but I heard nothing. I was weak, and speechless. I could not
have stared long enough. To be so close to something that touched Jesus was
overwhelming. I understood exactly the woman who said “if I could just touch
his cloak”. And then to wake
myself up I partly decided there was no way it was the actual one, even though
King Loius the something sold a CITY to have the crown of thorns.
Anyways. God clearly answered the question I kept asking.
WHAT AM I DOING HERE??
It’s the same reason we are on earth, as to why I am in
Paris. To bring others to Him.
To make disciples, to the ends of the earth.
