On days I go into town, I pass by this little tiny church nestled in the bend of a small street. You’d hardly notice it’s there as you hurry past, unless you take time to look up. If you’re solely focused on the bustle of your day, you won’t notice the bells that rise above its courtyard entrance. The doors into the church are just as modest. They don’t beckon you to enter, you have to seek it out. But once you step inside, there’s a feeling of humble magnificence in there. Lessons and inspiration painted on the walls and ceiling.
I almost missed it. Too busy with my day—likely focused on the bakery shop nearby. But I’m glad I didn’t. This was the spot I decided to take a breath and look up—just as I was walking past.
I took Connor back to this church to show him when he was here. And now, whenever I’m in town, I come back to bask in the sublime beauty of a quiet little church at the bend in the road.
You never know what’s waiting for you if you take a moment to breathe and look up.
