Oh Joy

Everything from rues (roads) to libraries to people here are named after St. Genevieve, the patron saint of Paris.

Attila the hun and his demon army were encroaching upon Paris when Genevieve, a woman dedicated to God, would not just let her city be taken without a fight. And so she prayed and inspired others to pray, and it is said that those prayers saved the city and diverted the army's wrath.

I don't know if Genevieve's is a true tale, but I like to think it is. And seeing her statue in the Saint Chapelle, her foot crushing a snake beneath her, was like a slap on the face from the Holy Spirit.

He reminded me that we have power from Him, power to pray. To not just let waves sent by the enemy into our hearts or our mind. To step on the snake before it can bite us.

The cathedrals here are dreamy, like something from a fairytale, and the streets of Paris rival anything I've ever seen. I have loved every moment, breathed it in as though I was living oxygen deficient .
But the greatest memories are the moments when Jesus has spoken.

Thursday night, MLK hosted Holy Spirit night.

At the end, people flooded to the front for prayer, and I went with them.

Two of the pastors came and prayed, and I tangibly felt joy. There are really no words to explain it. It was as if a physical expression of pure joy itself wrapped its arms around me until there was no room for insecurity. One of the pastors whispered "You are the light of God, aren't you?"

Not to sound vain, but I lit up like a christmas tree. That moment, those words, will stay with me for the rest of my

life, just like the beauties of Paris will always hang like pictures on the walls of my heart.