Continuing with our French theme I wrote this little piece one Sunday.  Far from home in a strange land where I did not understand the language beyond being able to buy bread and milk in my schoolgirl French, I had not thought of attending the local church service that Sunday.  But God called to me, through blue glass, to worship Him.  There is nowhere we can go but He is there.  May you find Him in unusual places today.

Blue glass

You did not choose Me, but I chose you and appointed you to go and bear fruit – fruit that will last. Then the Father will give you whatever you ask in My Name. John 15:16

The old village slumbers in the early morning light. Worn paint on shutters, closed against the promised heat of the day; scarred stone, ancient and solid; the memorial present in so many small villages stands surrounded by carefully tended bright plants, recalling the sacrifice of so many young men and women in years gone by as they laid down their lives for their homeland.

The church bell tolls as we climb the hill, and calls the faithful to worship. As we pass the door of the church we hear the priest chanting in French – or maybe Latin – the sound is indistinct and unfamiliar to our foreign ears. I glance in through the door that stands ajar and, through the dim darkness of this holy place, am stunned by the glorious beauty of the blue stained glass above the altar. Only here is light and colour. Someone, in ages past, poured time and love into the making of this lovely statement of light and faith in this small village church.

Not wanting to disturb the service I walk on with my friends. Irreverently we place a hat on a sunflower and take pictures – the scene looks like a remembered children’s program from our childhood – but my heart returns to the little church, the peace and sanctity of that quiet cave with the blue light that speaks of hope in the darkness.

Later, after we have feasted on local fare to break our fast, we drove past the little church and I caught a glimpse of the whole window through the open door. Yet somehow it did not draw me to itself in such a way as it had earlier. Maybe it was not the light that tugged at my heart but God Himself as He was worshipped …

I carve out time in my day to worship Him, my God and my Creator, who makes blue glass possible and calls to our very being in so many ways.

‘Here I am, Lord …’