Of Light and Color

Last year I changed my religious views on Facebook to say “kaleidoscopic”. I’ve only been asked about this twice and thought I’d explain it, because as I’ve let it sit and simmer, it’s made more sense.

Sir David Brewster, the inventor of the kaleidoscope, called it “the observer of beautiful forms”. The word kaleidoscope comes from the Greek kalos, meaning “beautiful” and eidos, meaning “shapes”. A kaleidoscope is made up of three essential parts: a tube, a few mirrors and small colored beads or objects.

These three things, when left alone, aren’t much. And put together they aren’t much, until light is presented. Then the whole becomes beautiful.

I think of my heart, in terms of spiritual/relational views, like this. God is my light. Without him, the pieces are boring, lifeless and useless. Love is the mirrors. The mirrors turn an arbitrary and banal strewing of pieces into a beautifully symmetric wonderment. They turn what is a mess into loving art. No matter how those pieces fall and swirl and change, those mirrors keep them beautiful, that light keeps it worth anything. It is only when I see my life with the mirrors of love and an eye toward God that I see beauty in my pieces. I don’t see my changes and falls as setbacks but as changes in my understanding of God, of light. I am my pieces, but with God I am new every morning, every moment.

Those patterns of light and color take me to a place of reverence. I think of stained glass and church walls; seeing the falling of dust through the cascade of colors that stream through the windows. When I had the opportunity to sit in Notre Dame Cathedral in Paris, I was blown away how that place rendered my heart. The north window contains a rosette that is as if one is looking at the world through a kaleidoscope. It was then I knew.

(I do not own the above image)

Jeff in IT

So while Hatch and I were in Paris we kept a keen eye on the possibility of a new friend. Ever watchful, the first morning in Paris we were on the jam-packed Metro on our way to the Arc de Triomphe (btw what is up with every hour of the day in Paris having totally packed Metros? Do these people work? Why do the cars look no different between "rush hour" and "hey shouldn't you be at work hour"?) when we spotted him. We were crammed like little le sardines in a tin Metro can when this guy got into our car and was standing in front of us, alone but for a copy of Rick Steves' Paris 2008. The North American version.
We said to ourselves, "NEW FRIEND!"
He also debarked at the Arc (as it is the terminus of the line, he really had nowhere else to go) and we sort of stalked him while we went about being tourists. We made up stories about him while we walked in the tunnel to the Arc. I decided his name was Jeff. And he worked in IT. Hatch decided his name was Michael and he was traveling the world to find himself. We both decided he was rather friendly and that we'd all get along quite swimmingly.
I admit, most of the time at the Arc de Triomphe I was completely distracted. I was interested in the Napeleon and the generals carved in stone, but the real story was WHERE WAS JEFF? We'd see him and then he'd be gone. He was like our own French Carmen Sandiego.
ANYWAY. We saw our chance at the Arc. Jeff was taking a photo of it and we meekly approached and asked in French if he spoke English (even if you know you have to pretend) and if he'd take a photo of us together. All a ruse to start a convo. Which we did. We spent the rest of the day, and part of the next day with our new friend.
Whose name happened to be Derek.
Who didn't work in IT, but is an epidemiologist specializing in TB.
From Canada.
My bad, Jeff.

We are Young and Happy...

One story from Paris...
We didn't reserve a place to stay until we got there. I had looked at a few places (shout out, Rick Steves' Paris 2008) but we hadn't really considered where to sleep. After I met Hatcher at the train station, we sat outside eating bread with Swiss apricot jam and goat cheese while we tried to figure out what to do and where to sleep in a city where we didn't speak the language and we didn't know. No problem. We found a hostel in the Latin Quarter, called and got a reservation in a 4-bed room for that night. Where? The Young and Happy Hostel. We liked the name. That was a selling point for us.
It was on the other side of Paris, but once we got our rolling suitcases down all those steps and onto the packed Metro we were just happy to be together on an adventure. We got to our metro stop and then had no idea where we were and walked about 20 minutes out of the way to get there. Eh well. It was our version of "The Amazing Race".
Conclusion: Young and Happy? Well, here is the stairwell up to our third story room:

Three stories, about three feet wide and two American girls laughing so hard we had to stop periodically to catch our breath. What!? Why did I bring a rolling suitcase? Oh that's right, London. Gahh! But we were still young and still happy and very bruised and battered.

Why am I holding a rose, you ask? Good question. We stashed our stuff at the hostel and headed to the Eiffel Tower to see it all lit up and a-purdy and while we were walking along a darkened path a French Police Officer holding a semi-automatic weapon popped out of the dark and said loudly "Pardon Mademoiselles!" My first reaction was to throw my hands up in the air. Maybe I'm a paranoid American, but man with gun shouting at me means I surrender. Weird I know. Anyway, he walked up and handed us roses, smiled and walked away. We hid behind a bush to see if he'd give them to every passerby but no, it was just us.
Must have been because we were so young and happy.
Other notes about Young and Happy: first night we shared a room with Amit, an Israeli book editor, and Steven, a college student from Ohio. Good times. Second night we were moved to a larger room that we shared with Rosalita and Paco, two Spaniards living in the UK who were on holiday and a bunch of other people we didn't meet.
Also: Young and Happy: bonus points for really, really cheap beer.
The end.