At the Doors

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In the centre of town, it looms. And I cannot help but turn my eyes up towards the stone and the spires and the silent faces.

I watched as she walked quietly up the steps, all habit and devotion. She slipped in the side door and I couldn’t help but wonder what it feels like to give your life away. To empty yourself so that there is more of Him.

But I could only pace outside.

 

The bells rang as I walked down the back steps, through that small wooded area where nothing really lives but squirrels and the late night doings of teenagers. All dark and quiet and isn’t that how I live my faith these days?

When I left it was dark but now the sun was up.

On the walk home I thought about what it must have been like to first see those churches rise up, the coloured light falling in. It’s the same even now. I am still a poor, broken sinner feeling awed and small.

 

Blocks away, I fingered the keys in my pocket and wondered why the traffic and construction still sounded like church bells.

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