If You Saw What I Saw

How do you tell a story that isn't yours?  And yet, at the very same time, it is my story.  Something happened.  A miracle.  Something that only God could do.  Believe me when I tell you--no humans were involved in this.  No, it was just God, and only God.

I will attempt to share this story via my perspective.  That's all I have really.  What I saw, how I felt, what God showed me personally, and what I've learned from someone else's pain. And in the end--joy.  I will share joy.

Right now in our small group (couple's Bible study), we are going through the book called Experiencing God by Henry Blackaby.  I warned the group before starting--watch out, be careful because the enemy does not like it when you draw close to God.  He does not want you to experience God in any way.  Spiritual warfare is about to begin.  Be ready, pray, hold on tight.  Unfortunately for me--I am the person facilitating the study group this time around.  I went on and on about how great this book is, how much we will learn, how close to God we will become.  It's basic but deep, I said.  You will begin to experience God in a new way.  Yep, I said all that and a whole lot more.  And that's when things began to happen.

As you have probably noticed it's been awhile since I have blogged and there's a very good reason for that.  You see, I've been praying.  Harder than I've ever prayed before in my life.  Day and night I have prayed.  City to city, I have prayed.  Wherever I have traveled, and travel I did, wherever I was, no matter the time zone, no matter the cost to me, I have prayed.  I felt God pulling me into a deeper prayer time with Him than ever before.  And I cherish that.  I love that call to prayer.

And then it started--it started with either a text message or an email, I honestly can't remember which.  My friend's daughter had been rushed to the hospital, she had passed out and hit her head.  After being taken to the ER, she was then taken to the ICU, where she remained for almost 2 weeks.  Intubated, sedated, staples in her head--it was all so surreal.  I immediately began to pray for God to spare her life.  For God to miraculously heal her.  The doctors said her brain injury was like she had gone through the windshield of a car.  So traumatic, so severe.  All types of tests were run, brain drained, MRI's, and x-rays.  Poked and prodded, test after test.  Towards the end of the ordeal, little hope was given, and also no true reason for her passing out in the first place.

So now, I must get back to me, and what God showed me in my times of prayer.  First off, I will say that I asked anyone and everyone to pray.  I flooded social media, I begged anyone who would listen--please pray for this young woman.  Newly engaged, beautiful, with her whole life ahead of her--please pray.  And secondly, I asked for prayer for her parents--they looked as though they had aged 10 years in those 2 weeks, the stress was overtaking them.  And since I have a very deep connection with them--Bible study, church, book club, small group--well, I'll just say this--I prayed my brains out.  These were my friends, and believe me when I say this--I am not above begging God for healing.  Not even a little bit.  And beg I did.  I stayed up nights praying, I made myself available to my friends--texting and talking and praying into the wee hours of the morning.

One night while praying, God showed me a picture.  It flashed right before me, there one minute, gone the next.  I saw her hospital room, and in the room were angels--flooding it and then because there was no more room, they were spilling into the hallways of the hospital.  I asked God why.  Why show me this mental picture of angels in her room?  Did that mean anything significant?  Was God going to heal her?  I grappled over whether or not to share this little vision with her parents and in the end, I did.  Otherwise, why would God have shown it to me?

She only got worse.  After a couple of days, several of us went to the hospital to pray for her.  We all sat holding hands praying and pleading with God to hear us.  I felt the presence of God so strongly in that hospital room and once again saw those angels.  Why God, why are you showing them to me?  Why aren't you healing her?  Right before we left my friend asked me to lay my hand on her daughter and pray for her.  She was laying slightly to her left, there were tubes coming out of her head, drains everywhere, machines beeping--but I reached my hand in and touched her boney little shoulder, it was the only place not hooked up to some hospital device.  I wanted so desperately for God to right then and there cause her to open her eyes and wake up, however, she did not.  But, I just prayed anyway.  I prayed with faith believing that my God could do anything!

A few days later I had to fly out to California with my husband for a business trip.  And although my heart was back home with my friends, I still managed to see family and friends out West.  I asked them to pray, they knew my heart was so heavy and burdened for this young woman.  My friend and I stayed in constant contact--emailing, texting and calling.  I needed to know exactly what was going on.  I needed to know just how to pray.  Hearing the heartbreak of my friend on the phone was gut wrenching.  It seemed that things just kept getting worse.  The more tests they ran, the direr the results.  Would she live?  Would she ever have normal brain function?  Would she ever get married, and live a normal life? I did not have the answers for my friend, all I could do for her was pray.

As God would periodically show things to me, I would share them with my friends.  For example, one night in prayer, God gave me Psalm 91.  I looked it up in several versions of the Bible and then prayerfully sent it along to my friends.  Another night the Lord woke me up and told me to stand in the gap for my friend, that she was losing hope and I was to stay up and pray for her as if it were me losing that hope.  And so I did.  I put myself in her place and prayed and asked God for hope for my friend.  And another time, God spoke to me and said--lean not on your own understanding...I have a plan.  

All of a sudden I felt that little spark of hope--wait a minute God, do you mean--as in hope for a healing for their daughter?  Is that what you are showing me?  I got pretty excited as I prayed that day.  I wondered--do I tell them anything, or do I keep this to myself?  And so again--I prayed and prayed and prayed.  Only this time I kept quiet and waited on God and His perfect timing.

A few days into my trip I received a text message early one morning.  They had removed the tube and were slowly bringing her out of sedation hoping to check brain function.  She opened her eyes, and my friend got in her daughter's face and began to say hi, over and over again.  And guess what?  Her daughter whispered hi back.  That was the beginning of her miracle.  That text message stopped abruptly and it was a bit before I heard from my friend again.  I was going crazy, what was going on?
And when she text me back, it said her daughter was now talking!

To make this very long journey shorter--God healed that young woman.  She was released from the hospital a few days later, was to go to outpatient therapy every day but has already been able to reduce that part of her rehabilitation.

Last night I saw her for the first time since that horrific hospital visit.  She was just as beautiful as ever and was sporting a cute little headband to cover the scar and missing hair.  She had lost a lot of weight but otherwise looked and acted completely normal.  And her parents?  Well, there is a new look about them. Their countenance is glowing.  That's the only word I can use to describe them.  Glowing.  Smiling.  Happy.  Thankful.  Grateful.  And they actually looked younger!  For God had heard their cries and healed their daughter.  How awesome is that?

My friends, of course, have a multitude of fantastic stories to share.  Of how God used them in the hospital to minister to others even while their very own daughter was lying a few feet away in her sick bed in the ICU.  Of those who heard their story and prayed, of friends and family--all called to prayer.  Yes, lives were changed--forever.

So why do I share this story?  I tell it for this one reason.  To tell you that God is not dead.  He is alive.  He loves us, and He alone is our healer, restorer, deliverer, redeemer.  I will be forever grateful that God heard our prayers and healed our friend's daughter.  I was changed by this miracle, and I know that others were too!

Yes, if you saw what I saw you would believe in miracles too.  Here is Jacki and my friends Marie and Dave--this is a very recent photo.  God is good.

 Jacki Peckepaugh, with her happy parents, my friends--Dave and Marie Peckepaugh

 Jacki and her fiance Chris--this will be one awesome wedding!

City of Trees

I grew up in the City of Trees.  I lived there on and off for the first 46 years of my life.  However, although we had plenty of trees, we didn't have a whole lot of color.  The leaves would turn brown and then fall off.  To me though, as a little girl, it really didn't matter what color the leaves were, I just wanted to crunch my way along the sidewalks and gutters of Sacramento.  On those crisp fall mornings walking to school, I would take my time.  I loved the noise of crackling leaves.  I would daydream my way along the streets wondering how I even ended up at my final destination, so lost was I in my deep childhood thoughts.  I miss those times.  Thinking times, crunchy times.  Times to ponder life.

Eventually, we moved out to the midwest where I learned what a real autumn looked like.  Fiery reds, brilliant oranges, sunny yellows and all other shades of fall would overtake the month of October each and every year.  I can hear my California friends and family groan and roll their eyes in unison at this statement, but nonetheless, it's true.  Fall color in the Midwest is awesome!  And I've heard that it doesn't even come close to how beautiful the northeast is.

However, even with all the beauty of the Midwest falls, nothing compares to my childhood memories of my city of trees.  My favorite time of the year is still autumn and when I go back home, the visit is that much sweeter in the fall.  Yes, sometimes it's a bit warmer than I'm used to now, and yes, sometimes I don't get to wear my new fall sweaters, and yes, sometimes the leaves are just plain old brown, but there is one thing that remains the same-- the crunchiness of those leaves, and the memories that flood my soul.

Yes, I love the sound of leaves crunching underneath my feet.  It triggers memories of my childhood, walking through the autumn leaves on my way to school each foggy frosty morning.  It is a memory that is good.  It is a memory that makes me smile.  It is a memory that tugs at my heart.

Childhood memories are funny like that.  We have good memories and bad memories.  And it's true, sometimes the bad outweigh the good.  And maybe like mine, your childhood wasn't all that great either.  And that's OK because I am a grown up now.  I get to take the good memories and build on those.  I get to decide which thoughts to camp on.  And this fall I chose to remember the good things.  Like crunchy leaves, wood burning fireplaces, and the smell of rain on sidewalks.  Those are the triggers that I pick to dwell on.

So I encourage you to walk through some leaves this season.  Close your eyes, walk in some gutters, crunch a lot, smile and take a deep breath.  For me, that's what God smells like.  Fall, He smells like fall.  Peace, safety, protection--I guess those are the memories that are triggered when I walk through crunchy leaves, especially when I am home in the city of trees.

Everlasting Love

I finally have time to sit down and write, and I feel so relieved.  For this blog has been brewing in my heart for a few days now.  A couple of days ago 1 Thessalonians 5:16-18 came to my mind and then this morning Jeremiah 31:3 came to me and it hit me like a ton of bricks.  So, I just had to blog.  I can't hold it in any longer.  The 2 verses dovetailed in my mind so vividly that it blew me away.

I Thessalonians 5: 16-18 states--Rejoice always, pray continually, give thanks in all circumstances; for this is God's will for you in Christ Jesus.

And Jeremiah 31: 3 says--I have loved you with an everlasting love; I have drawn you with unfailing kindness.

As a Christian, a follower of Christ, I am told to be happy, be content, be thankful and to pray.  And pretty much, that's exactly what I do.  I am a happy, content, joyful, prayerful person.  I just am.  I'm sure it has a lot to do with my personality and a lot to do with my relationship with God.  For God created me to be an optimist, and in that optimism, my life overflows with love for my God.  It just does.  There isn't a thing I can do about it.  Even though I know it irritates others at times, it's just how he made me.

In the same respect, I know that God loves me.  He chose me, he died for me, I am his daughter, and he loves me with an everlasting love.  He is kind, and his love has not nor will it ever, fail me.  I know this to be true as much as I know anything at all ever!  I am wondering if "at all ever" should be morphed into one word like nonetheless?  Anyway--I digress.
I am just trying to get you to see things for a moment from my perspective.  I serve a God that allowed his very own son to die for me, that's how much he loves me.  So, I was thinking about this--I don't think I love anyone on the face of this earth that much!  Not to allow my child to die for them.  I'm sorry, I just don't.  Not one of my kids, not ever.  However, in confessing that--I would give my life for someone that I love.  I truly would.  If my husband or one of my kids or grandkids needed an organ, I'd be the first one on the donate list.  That's how much I love them.

So, I believe God when he tells me that he loves me with an everlasting love.  He gave up his son.  There was no crime that Jesus committed, he just volunteered to take my place on that cross.  I am the sinner, and he was (and is) the Son of God.  That brings me to tears every time.  He took my place.  And that fact alone proves to me just how much he loves me.  So yes, it's easy for me.  To feel loved, to feel happy, content, thankful, joyful--these things are not hard for me.  Not one little bit.

Do I go through hard times?  Naturally.  Do things happen to me (and those I love) that I have no control over?  Of course.   But I am told to give thanks in ALL circumstances.  So I do.  And in that quiet prayerful, soul searching, tearful time before God, he comforts me.  He tells me that he loves me and that he has everything under control.  And me?  Well, I believe him.  For he loves me with an everlasting love, and he draws me to himself and he holds me in his great big God arms, and he whispers my name.

 Forever and ever and ever.  Everlasting to everlasting...

The Heavens Declare

I had a weird feeling when I took this picture.  A feeling that a story would come, and that I would have to write about it.  Little did I know at the time--the story would be unfolding before my very eyes.  I took this photo last Friday evening.  We had gone to dinner with our sons and their families to celebrate my birthday.  Afterward, we stopped by a local park so that our 4 youngest grandchildren could play on the toys.  As evening approached I turned and saw the sky.  I took out my cellphone and captured this photo.  Not a great picture but a beautiful sky nonetheless.  The sight took my breath away.  I immediately thought of the verse--the heavens declare the glories of the Lord.  I heard God whisper in my ear--I am a great big God, the creator of the universe, and I made this just for you.  I stood for a moment, trying to hold back tears, and then slowly turned to rejoin my family.

My story does not end there, however.  It takes up again a few days later at church when a friend leaned over during worship and said she felt lead to ask me to pray for her after the service.  Of course, I said yes, but I didn't wait until after church. No, I silently began to pray for her right then and there--I prayed all through worship, all through the sermon and right up until we pretty much had the sanctuary to ourselves.  There were a couple of things I found interesting though during my prayer time for her--one was that my mind kept wandering--bird walks, I call them--but as I tried hard to get back to praying, it dawned on me that God was leading me down certain pathways of prayer.

In the beginning I assumed she wanted prayer for her husband, however, as I prayed I began to think of my nephews who died a few years ago, which then lead me to think about a friend of mine and her nephew, and then I thought of my nephews that are still living--and on and on.  The theme being nephews.  Weird.  No, not so weird.  Because as I sat down to pray with my friend, guess what she wanted to pray for--you guessed it--her nephew!  Isn't God awesome?  He knew just what I needed to start praying for.  I shared all that with her, and we sat there just amazed.

As we left the sanctuary after praying together she remembered a picture she had taken that morning on her drive to church.  The sky was so beautiful that she pulled her car over to take this shot.  And thought to herself--our God is so big!
She pulled out her camera to show me and this is what her photo looked like--

My picture was a sunset, hers a sunrise--both similar, and both declaring the glories of the Lord.  We stood there showing each other our photos, tears in our eyes, marveling at just how big our God really is.  He can do anything.  He can heal us, and save us.  He can protect us, and provide for us.

He is a great big God, and He loves us.  And even the heavens declare the glories of the Lord.

No Halfsies

When I married my husband 40 years ago I made a vow.  I made a promise.  I made a commitment to be faithful, to love, and to make a partnership with him that would last throughout our lifetime.  I took it to be extremely serious.  We would remain partners for life.  The word divorce was stricken from our vocabulary.  We would work it out, no matter the cost.  And sometimes, the cost was great.

I made the same commitment to motherhood.  When we decided to start a family, I stayed home with our children.  I gave up my career, and I became a mom.  All in.  Fully committed.  I was there, always there for them, dedicated and devoted to my children.

I found out a few things about myself throughout these life experiences of mine.  One is that I am loyal--almost to a fault.  When I commit, there is no going back.  Faithful, and steadfast--my husband sometimes calls this stubborn, I, however, disagree.  I call it faithful and true.

What prompted me to write today is this--I realized that I don't do halfsies.  Oh, I know that this isn't a real word, but you get my drift.  Nothing is halfway with me.  And as I sat praying this morning, it dawned on me that the one person whom I have given everything to is God, I gave him my life--wholly, years ago.  Not half way.  Never half way.  For me, my relationship with Him is all or nothing.

I've made this commitment to love and serve him all the days of my life.  No turning back, no half-hearted attempt, no serving on my own terms or when it suits me.  No, I'm all in, and I always have been, and I pray I always will be.  Devoted to God, with all my heart.  And now, after all these years, I honestly do not know any other way to serve him.  Except with my whole heart.  I love him.  I am his child.  No halfsies.  Not me.

No matter how hard the circumstances, struggles, lack of understanding, heartache, or sickness--I know that he has my best interest tucked deep into his heart and that he will protect me and care for me.  I know that he loves me and that I am his daughter.  You see, there are no halfsies for him either. He's all in.  Fully committed, fully engaged.  He even gave his life for me.  He saved me.

This relationship that we have, this father/daughter thing, well, it's pretty special.  Me and him, him and me, whole, pure, true, strong, committed, faithful--no halfsies.

I trust him with my whole heart, he's my provider, my protector, my healer, my father, my God.

In His Shadow

I knew the minute I heard the phrase that I would have to write about it.  It was one of those "light bulb" moments.  Time stood still, my brain activated, and away I went--thoughts running at full throttle.

Our pastor was reliving a moment when he and his wife were walking their dogs in the hot desert sun, they were worried about them becoming overheated and she remarked--I wish we could teach them to walk in our shadow.  

Immediately God whispered in my ear--are you walking in my shadow?  I don't think I heard a word after that--not really.  Because all I could do was pray and ask God to reveal to me, just how I should, would, and could walk in His shadow.  I sat there praying asking Him to please help me to walk in the shadow of God Almighty.  I was completely overwhelmed as I began to realize what that concept entailed.

For me it meant protection.  And as I thought about the word protection, well, just look at what it means--He is my defense, my security, my shield, my preservation, my conservation, my safe keeper, my safeguard, my sanctuary, my shelter, my refuge, my immunity, my insurance, my indemnity.  I could go on.  Believe me, I could go on.  

There have been more times in my life than I could ever count where I have leaned on and depended on my God for all those things.  If I did not have the relationship with Him that I do--I wonder, would I even recognize Him as He protects me each and every day, would I even see Him?  In all my years of serving Him--have I learned to walk His shadow?   

So this is my prayer today, that I learn to walk in the shadow the most high God.  That I see Him and feel Him working all around me, in every aspect of my life.  And mostly, that I stay within the perimeters of His shadow.   

Just Different

It hit me hard this morning--how different our lives are out here in the midwest.  Not bad, just not the same.  in a few weeks, we will have been here for 15 years.  15 years!  It's so hard for me to wrap my brain around that little piece of information.  I'm a Californian, not a midwesterner.  I think, feel and act like a Californian.  Really, I do.  And yet--everything is so different here.  And I hate to admit this--I think I have changed.  The last 15 years have been so very different from the first 45 years of my life.  So I guess I am now 1/4 midwestern.  

What started this thread of thought?  I was driving home from dropping my husband off at the train station.  Yes, I just said train station.  That's not something I ever said, let alone did in California.  Ever.  Oh, we rode on BART when in San Francisco but that's about it.  And yet, today my husband had a meeting in "the city" so he took Metra in to avoid having to look for a parking place.  It's common out here in the midwest--trains, I mean.  And now after living here in Chicagoland for 4 years, we have become accustomed to train travel.  And not only for work--shopping too!  When did that happen?  

And then there is the weather.  For that is the next logical place that my little brain went--weather.  It's coming upon Autumn here in the midwest.  Soon, all will be bright yellow, orange and red.  The colors are mind blowing.  Not in California though.  Our fall colors are brown.  That's it.  Brown.  I'm not kidding.  Green to brown to on the ground.  And then winter would come.  We might throw on a jacket or sweater, we still needed our sunnies, and by March we were cleaning our pool and getting ready for summer.  Here?  Well, by November, we are gearing up for snow.  All outdoor furniture goes into storage.  I don't BBQ in the winter here (although my husband can't understand why not) and during the winter I no longer sit outside and read, and I don't ride my bike.  It pretty much stays that way until May.  Until after the thaw.  

Yes, everything is different out here.  From what I shop for to what I wear.  From the types of cars, we drive to thinking about snow removal service.  Yes, it's very different here.  From rain dates to snow days.  It's just not the same.  And I wonder--have I changed?  Have I grown hardier?  Because I feel a little bit like a pilgrim sometimes.  Wow, that's going to be hard to explain.  And why a pilgrim?  I'll need to ponder this a bit, and maybe come back to it later or not.

I guess when I truly think this through, it's the conversations that we now have that surprise me.  We talk a lot more about the weather, however, it's not due to boredom or just passing the time, it's due to preservation.  We talk about train schedules.  For now, they are important too.  And we talk about outdoor patios--for they are no longer taken for granted, as they are seasonal here.   We have favorite "winter" restaurants and favorite "summer patio, I don't care what the food tastes like" restaurants.  Yes, very strange conversations.  About different things.  We used to talk about chlorine and floaties.  

Life has changed for us--in oh so many ways.  I do wonder sometimes what my life would look like had I stayed in California.  I know one thing--I wouldn't have learned half of what I know now.  For I now understand another way of life.  I kind of like that.  I like learning and growing and changing.  I like experiencing new things.  For they are not bad, they are just different.  

And now I must stop writing--I just received a text from husband--he's coming in on the 4:40 and can I pick him up at the train station?   Sure, here I come!

Lighthouse

I don't know about you, but there is always something for me to pray about.  Always.  Which means that there is a restlessness in my spirit most of the time.  I walk around praying, thinking, and yes, I'll admit it--worrying, to some extent.  It leaves me feeling unsettled at times.  So, I pray, and pray, and pray some more.

I wonder sometimes--is this the life of an intercessor?  This hard to explain feeling of what? actually, uneasiness?  I'm not sure.  Is it the calling, or this pure humanness of mine that makes me this way?  I'm really not sure.

What brought these thoughts and questions to light was the sermon that our pastor preached last Sunday.  Something he said triggered a memory--a song.  And since I am a complete and total worshiper at heart, many times God speaks to me through music.  One such song was from long, long ago.  A song by The Imperials.  I can't remember the name, but I sure remember the song.  It was about a ship out on rough seas at night during a storm.

The minute the song about that ship came to mind, God began to speak to me.  You see, that ship was trying to convince the lighthouse to move and adjust its course.  Over and over the ship called out for it to move.  Get out of my way, adjust your course.  Finally, the lighthouse calls out--I AM THE LIGHTHOUSE--adjust your course.  I still get chills when I think of that song.

I get chills because I am always asking God to adjust His course.  Let me have my way.  Because frankly sometimes I don't understand His ways.  I'm just being honest here.  I really do act this way at times.  And I believe that last Sunday God was bringing it to my attention.  He wants me to stop.  He wants me to adjust my sails, trust Him, and let Him do His job.  After all, He is the lighthouse.  And I, well, I'm just a simple little boat.

I began to think about doubt, faith, and trust.  Do I trust Him?  Do I doubt Him?  Do I have faith that He will shine His light where it needs to shine?  Do I really have faith in Him?  And do I have a choice?

Yes, my thoughts this week have been about lighthouses.  What was their purpose?  How did they play a part in navigation?  And most of all, how does this effect my relationship with the God I serve?

Either I believe or I don't.  Either I trust Him or I don't.  Either I adjust my sails, or...what?

It seems like it's always something.  Family, friends, neighbors, illness, death--so many things to pray about, and to trust God for.  It can become so overwhelming for me as a pray-er.  I'll admit that most of the time I take on way too much.  So maybe it's time for me to adjust my course and let Him light the way for me.  Because sometimes it's just too dark for me to see.  I need a lighthouse.

Always Paris

I always find a way.  I must go to Paris when I am in Europe.  Notice that I didn't just say France?  I mean anytime I am in Europe I finagle a way to spend at least a couple of days in Paris before leaving for home.  It is my favorite city in all of Europe.

Honestly, I keep waiting for that to change.  The more that I visit Europe, the more towns and villages, and cities that I explore--well, I am expecting that one day some new love will pop up.  However, in all these years there is still one city that holds a piece of my heart like no other.  And that's Paris.

I have had a lot of friends and family members ask me why.  Why does Paris have such a hold on you?  Just what is it about that city?  And my answer is simple--I don't know.  There are so many beautiful cities in this world of ours.  And yet--this city is the one for me.

We left Lyon and as I said goodbye to her, there was an excitement that was beginning to build deep inside me.  I was on my way to Paris.  We were going to spend just 3 nights, but they would be the best 3 nights ever.  We were going to Paris.  My city.

The view from our hotel window

My husband said that as soon as we hit the outskirts of town my countenance changed.  He literally watched my facial expressions and body language come alive.  I didn't notice it--as I was too busy looking for my special landmarks.  You know, Paris stuff--like the Eiffel Tower and the Arc de Triomphe.  Oh yes, I am that tourist, the one that hangs out the car window, pointing and smiling and taking pictures as though it were my first time there.  Yes, I am one of those.  A crazy American.

I just wanted to buy some fruit!

The view from the corner of our hotel...

  

Each time we visit Paris we stay in a different arrondissement.  For this visit, we choose the 7th.  Our hotel was a couple of blocks off Rue Cler and within a short walk to the Eiffel Tower.  Perfect.  This was to be my very first time to Rue Cler.  I had heard the stories, seen the pictures, and daydreamed up a storm, but I had never been myself.  I could hardly wait.  In fact, it was killing me--at least that's what I kept telling my husband.

Let's go shopping!

Believe me when I tell you that when my feet hit the pavement the next morning, I fairly ran to Rue Cler.  And it was not a disappointment.  Talk about something being right up my alley.  I immediately began to hyperventilate.  Blocks upon blocks of French antiques--dishes, lamps, and rugs.  Fruit, vegetables, and flowers.  It was everything I had pictured.  I think we walked up and down those blocks for several hours.  We stopped along the way for coffee and lunch, but seriously, I could not sit still long--I was on Rue Cler.  It's all I think about now--how can I finagle a way back to Paris?  You think I'm kidding?

Flowers galore...

I am a hoarder of antique dishes...I'll never stop.

She had to be my favorite seller...

That evening we strolled (that's what you do in Paris, you stroll) over to the Eiffel Tower and then walked along the river.  It was glorious--there is just no other word to describe the scene before us.  It was that spectacular.  We had dinner at a little bistro near our hotel and then strolled home.

The River Seine...

Of course I went in--don't be ridiculous...

We saved our last day in Paris for what I like to think of as the Mega walk--about 10 miles total.  We walked to the river, across the bridge, over to the Avenue des Champs Elysees, where we bought some macarons and then on down to the Arc.  We walked and then walked some more.  I thought my hips were going to give out.  However, we did have fun.  Pain pills helped.

Do you need to use the restroom?  Here's one...

Iconic metro sign...

There she is--Laduree...

The best place to buy your macarons in Paris

Yes, I ate some--they were fabulous!

I always get so sad when I leave Paris.  I often daydream of returning.  I don't know why it has the hold on me that it does, but I'm glad for it.  I love having something to look forward to, to daydream about, and the hope of returning soon.  You see, for me, it's always Paris.

A Foodie In Lyon

Looking through my pictures of Lyon, France I realized something--I am a self-proclaimed foodie.  I love food, I love to cook and I love to eat.  And since we were spending 2 weeks driving through France, that meant a trip to Lyon.  After all, it is known as the food capital of France.  Something deep down inside me said--we must go to Lyon, we must try the food, we must eat to our heart's content.  So we did.  We left Nice and drove for several hours, seeing more castles and chalets than I thought possible.  We began to laugh after awhile--we actually got tired of saying to each other look at that castle.  There were that many!  For me, this stretch of the trip was the most scenic and beautiful.  Green, lush, rolling fields of tall grasses--lots of sheep and cattle.  And vineyards.  A movie set to be sure.

And off in the distance--a castle...

We stopped along the way to refuel--the car and us.  We took pictures.  Though all I could think about was that food waiting for me in Lyon.

After unloading the luggage and checking into our hotel we took off on foot with our cameras in tow. We were staying one block in from the river and one bridge away from the main shopping plaza.  Did I mention that I do most of the planning of these little excursions of ours?  Anyway, as we were walking the main square it began to drizzle, which then turned into a huge downpour, so we ran into a local cafe and sat it out with all the other shoppers.  It was a little too early for dinner and once the rain let up away we went.  Browsing little boutiques, sampling little cookies, taking pictures of fountains and of course--people watching.  Awesome.

Before the rain started we walked to the river by our hotel.

This little bookstore is famous for its entry--I wonder why?  

We were glad later that we waited to have dinner, as we stumbled upon one of Lyon's most famous restaurant areas.  After looking at every menu--yes, I said every--we chose one special place and we were not disappointed.  Oh, my goodness.  Some of the best food ever!  And, since I apparently showed some interest in the food prep and kitchen--the chefs put on a little show.  We had the best time, and after, we slowly walked back to our lovely little hotel hand in hand.  Perfect.

Rhone River

I have a thing for bridges, I feel that I must cross them all.

But wait--we discovered the next day that there were two rivers, and another bridge to cross, which then led us into the old city.  And a funicular.  I just happen to love funiculars.  It wasn't a hard decision to make, so we bought our tickets and proceeded up, up, up the mountain--to the wrong location.  Yep, we took the wrong stupid funicular.  There is a right one and a left one.  We took the wrong one.

The wrong but fun funicular.  I wonder if they call them that because they are fun?

Once we figured out that little bit of information, we began to walk through winding, curvy, narrow streets across the top of the city to the location that we originally wanted to be.  Whew, we made it.  It was worth the trek as the views were spectacular.  We could see both rivers running parallel, and the many bridges crossing them.  We could see churches, old Roman ruins, and numerous tiny streets.

The ruins were absolutely fantastic, they still hold concerts and plays.

The view from up top--the rivers and the city--breathtaking.

This looked like a good place for a coffee.

We slowly made our way down into the old city, stopping to see the ruins, stopping to take pictures and stopping so that I could take a breath.  After all, this wasn't an endurance test, even though it felt like one.

Fantastic cafes, just perfect for patio lunches.

I love old city streets in Europe.

I loved the old city, and it's cobbled little streets.  We found a fantastic little cafe to stop and have a coffee.  We walked through a little farmer's market and my husband even found a bike shop.  Totally worth it at that point for him.  His souvenir?  A bike jersey.  Mine?  Olive oil.  Go figure.

I loved the baskets of fresh eggs, they were sold by the half dozen.

Loved all the oils.

That evening a street market began to emerge along the river close to our hotel.  We gave them time to set up and then wandered on over to explore.  My biggest complaint was that I did not have my very own apartment, with my very own kitchen.  I wanted to buy up as much produce as possible and I needed a stove!  I settled however for sampling fruits and veggies and taking food photos.

I might just be a food truck groupie.

We did something that evening that surprised even us.  We had dinner at a food truck.  In France.  And it wasn't even French food.  It was a pizza truck with its own pizza oven.  I will tell you this--in all honesty, it was the best pizza I've ever had and it was the best food on our entire trip.  We sat on the steps of the river bank and tore into that pizza with our bare hands.  It was big enough to spill and it was fantastic.  Well worth the carbohydrates.  I do not regret my decision to carbo load at that moment.  No, I do not.

Yes, Lyon is a beautiful city.  It is a city for foodies and historians, and it is also a great place for shoppers.  It's a photographers dream.  It is not, however, Paris.  And it doesn't pretend to be.  It is a stand alone city, well worth the stop.

This little cafe had a mirror and I thought--why not take a selfie--right?

And one of my hottie husband too!

Monaco

Before getting into my little travel log on Lyon, I want to share about our last full day in Nice.  We thought we couldn't very well be such a short distance away from Monaco and not drive through it.  Just to say we did it.  It took us about 20 minutes to get there and of course, it was raining.  Grrrrrr
I had wanted to get out and walk around a bit.  However, once again I sucked it up and just enjoyed our drive and made the best of it.

I had heard that Monaco was small.  And it is.  Very small.  As we drove along the winding highway I wondered to myself--is that it?  Yes, it's that small.  It sits on a hillside next to the sea.  It's like a large marina sticking up out of the water.  Everything seemed massive--buildings, boats.  Which also seemed strange--where was the quaintness of this little country?  

We saw extremely expensive cars--and if you are into cars like I am, well, let's just say you would be in car heaven.  We saw outrageous yachts and beautiful high-rises.  If you think about it, Monaco has only one way to grow and that's up.  High up!

We did enjoy our ride, however--we took some back roads into small neighborhoods, and we wound around following the coastline as far as we could.

Would I go back?  Would I want to stay there?  No.  I've seen it, it's not for me, but I'm glad I went.  I can now check that box.  I am more of a traditional European groupie.  I want charm--bigger is better is not one of my mottos.

So, here are a few of my photos--please enjoy.  Remember though, these were shot through a car windshield and it was lightly raining.  So, don't shoot the photographer--pun intended.

Getting there--Roman ruins and aqueducts...

                 

Leaving Nice...

                     

I can't get enough of these trees...

                     

Little boxes on the hillside...

               

This is the view that people pay for!

               

Cruise ships and boats...

                 

Small spaces and tall places...

               

I kept thinking of Princess Grace...

                   

This was way cool...

                 

 It's hard to see but the road follows along the mountainside...

                 

 Every country needs a Crest...

                   

 One of the little neighborhoods...