Peace Down a Cobblestone Road

(picture from ebay)

As I wind myself down the narrow cobblestone pathway, I feel goosebumps on my arms and a shiver in my bones, though the scorching sun and windless day envelops me. I’m containing my joyful giggles because my upbringing taught me to be quiet at church. I want to run the length of the path, winding around gangly shrubs and old, faded statues, chipped and neglected; yet I tiptoe, slowly, enjoying every step with ecstatic anticipation. Tears trace my nose. I lick them as they meet my smiling lips.

I’ve seen the grandeur of St. Paul’s Cathedral in London, and Westminster Abbey; I’ve admired the spiral staircase at the Loretto Chapel and knelt in so many churches and cathedrals across the globe, large and small alike. I’ve been in awe of the structures themselves and the thought of so many prayers offered up over the centuries, knowing God has heard each one of them.

But, here, there’s a sweetness in the air, though no flowers in sight. The uncut grasses and unkept bushes are as welcoming as the arms of Jesus Himself. I might have missed the tiny sign out front if I’d blinked, yet I know that God’s Spirit has drawn me to this humble grotto behind the old stone wall.

Normally, I’d take pictures to share, but it feels this like this is a place for Jesus to speak to my heart. As modest as a manger in cold barn, yet, He’s here.

I’m standing before dirty stones, once stacked high; the cove for a large statue of Mary has been battered by many storms, making me wonder how it’s stood the test of time? Tears of tenderness swell from within me, I want to hold this whole place in my arms, I want to embrace everything that God has for me here.

I fall to my knees on hard dirt, baked by the sun, but with a pull I can’t resist. I can’t even close my eyes, fearing I’ll miss something, yet everything fades away.

I’m shaking as I rejoice in the middle of nowhere. I can see an old picture my father painted many years ago. Jesus sits in the midst of children. From the folds of His robe, I see my little sister, peeking out at me. She looks timid as her eyes meet mine; she clings to His robe. Sobs overtake me. My little sister! My precious little sister, in this life so filled with hurt and sorrow, fear and abuse – hiding in the robes of the King!

Without a word of prayer, I know she’s safe with Him there, secure in the folds of His garment. I’m at total peace.

(picture from pinterest)