Coming to terms in Lyon

I spent Bastille Day in Lyon walking around and taking in as much of the city as possible. What really intrigued me was the basilica of Notre-Dame de Fourvière, that sits atop a huge hill (that mind you I had to walk up 400 some odd steps the night before to get to where I was crashing) that most people take the Funicular to get to. I got up there late morning and started my visit in the Crypt.

The thing with churches and other various religous venues that cater to tourists is how little people acknowledge the original purpose of where they are. I understand, especially in Europe, that the cathedrals provide more than a door to God, but a door into the art world--paintings, stain glass windows, architecture, etc. Both are to be appreciated, but the latter seems to take center stage. There is so much history and the art facade doesn't even begin to tell the story of what the artist was trying to create. When I entered the Crypt there were dozens of people walking around, taking pictures, talking and the like. What there wasn't were people praying. There was a sign marking a praying area, but no one was taking advantage of it, so I decided that now was as good a time as any to share my thoughts with someone. I chose a pew, kneeled down and for the first time in a really long time I prayed.

It's sad, but I can pinpoint when I really stopped going to Church. It was second semester my sophomore year at Madison when I got really into working for the paper and less into all of my other commitments (really, I might go down as the best dorm association president ever, but that's only b/c I didn't really do my job and I was great to party with). I stopped going w/Pam to church on Sunday nights and my volunteering went from every other week to maybe every other month. Even on the rare weekend that I was home, I didn't go to church b/c it was too early to get up for after being out the night before with friends.

Now back to Lyon, so I'm in kneeling and praying and I immediately start to rehash my trip in my head--the getting robbed bit, the constant rain, the iPod I no longer had and I realized that all I was doing was rehearsing yet another "Woe is Me" bit. Seriously, who doesn't have their own version of that. Here I was in Lyon, France on a trip that I've wanted to take for as long as I could remember and all I could do was complain. Somewhere in that train of thought I pretty much slapped myself across the face and told myself to shut up in one of those, "There's a war going on and children are starving" type moments. Instead of praying for what I needed I started thanking God for the people I had met along the way, the kindness of strangers in the course of my travels and for the unknown that lay ahead. I was realizing how we all have our own "crosses" to bear in some way or form and it's our choice of how heavy we want that cross to be. Who was I to sit here and complain when somewhere, someone is shouldering their's without the slightest grimace of it being a burden? I've led a very fortunate life and have had chances to do things that most people could only dream of. I have a great family, the best of friends and an opportunity down whatever street I choose to walk. I'm young, I'm healthy and my future's so bright I have to wear shades.

So yes, in the Crypt of Notre-Dame de Fourvière,, I started to look at what I had and not what I've lost. I decided to suck it up, shut up and carry the cross that I had created.

I figured if anything, it had to be at least lighter than my backpack.

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Part of trip: European Sports Adventure

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