My Notre Dame de Paris

​Although it is dark inside, and candles are burning everywhere, I feel the light of the dedication of artists and monks and heads of state and pilgrims and tourists who have come here for more than nine centuries to create, to worship, to wonder, and to feel peace. 
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As I wander the aisles of Notre Dame de Paris, I enjoy lingering at the small side chapels.  I feel as if I’m visiting an old friend.  I am not Catholic, but I appreciate the devotion to the Savior and his mission I see depicted all around me.  I also love seeing remembrances of those devoted to Him during their lives—His mother Mary and grandmother Anne, Joan of Arc, St Denis, St Stephen, and the various apostles.  I reverence the faith in the resurrection and the triumph over evil that is portrayed in the statues adorning the tombs.  I marvel at the intricacy of the chancel screen, surrounding the altar and choir, carved with scenes from the life of Christ.  I bask in the soft, but brilliant, colors of the stained glass, as the sun filters through and throws patches of blue and red and gold on the gray stone columns and floor.  Although it is dark inside, and candles are burning everywhere, I feel the light of the dedication of artists and monks and heads of state and pilgrims and tourists who have come here for more than nine centuries to create, to worship, to wonder, and to feel peace. 

This is my fifth trip to Paris, and I’m traveling with a handful of French teachers, soaking up the history and culture of this ancient and vibrant city.  In college, I lived here for six months.  So I have visited Notre Dame close to ten times, I am sure.  I never get tired of the flicker of the candles, the hushed speaking, the feeling of awe, I sense here. 
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