The Touch

Thinking about Notre Dame tonight, which is 9 a.m. Paris time, and something I said on
another post had caused something strange to came over me and into my mind about books,
novels I've read and held in my hands to feel the words, and touch and smell the pages,
to touch the characters; and I thought about wood, especially the furniture I used to restore
with my bare hands to feel the grain on my fingertips, the age that lingered between; and the
pews I used to polish in my church, feeling the smoothness and love that possessed them...
and the stained glass I looked up to, to read in that church and many other churches after that.
Yes, they all tell a story. Here is what I’m reminded of about Notre Dame.

I know so many hands touched those walls and surfaces over the many years...an iconic structure.
Amazing how we revere such things. Symbols that show endurance, but like life itself, you never
know when it will end.

I was there to visit Notre Dame, and yes I touched the walls and felt it's beauty and history. I was
once into stained glass windows on churches and studied church architecture, I took pictures of
every church I came in contact with, here in the US and Europe, art history gave me that love
and appreciation, and all of these windows truly tell a story. I'm not sure how much of these
windows on Notre Dame will have survived, lead melts at a very low temperature, let alone the
glass itself. It saddens me immensely to think they will be gone forever.

You can restore wood, stained glass, cement and plaster and paint, but you can’t erase history
it saw and absorbed from the lives that passed its way. Appreciate what you have now is all I
can say. Let it touch you.