Lost and Found | Previous Challenge Entry

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TITLE: Lost and Found | Previous Challenge Entry
By Jennifer Percell
10/14/21
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“Cassiopeia is there, and the Big Dipper”. My eyes followed his gesture, my heart was focused on the warmth of being wrapped in his familiar arms. The September stars shone on the field in front of a sixteenth century hunting stable turned Bed and Breakfast.
“I’m sorry you’re tired, it’s my fault the day was so long.” He apologized.
We had left the Midwest thirty-three hours ago, choosing flights with long layovers because they were cheaper. Where Keith saw only my exhaustion, I saw the beginning of our very own fairy tale.
“Only my brave husband would rent a car in Paris and just take off into the countryside.”
“Only your crazy husband, that is.”
***
Three days later the GPS’s stilted voice blurted, “Turn right on ruee dee grin-ee-eer.”
“See, she’s lying again, there is no street here, and her French is as bad as that Texan in the boulanger. Are you ready for a tour guide yet?”
“Are you kidding? We’ve seen the Loire valley at it’s finest this way. You have shown me chateaux not spoiled by parking lots and gift shops, old village groceries that haven’t changed since the 50’s, and amazing scenery.”
“Don’t forget all the towns with no public bathrooms. Ah, this must be it, finally!”
“Oh, so quaint and remote! I love it!”
***
Settling in under heavy quilts three hours later we reviewed the evening our hosts Suzanne and Jean-Paul so graciously provided.
“Did you see the bellows he used to build the fire?”
“I think I counted eight cheeses and five fresh veggies from the garden. And not a word of English all night!”
Soon I was listening to gentle snoring beside me and the midnight quiet of this little village so proud of it’s two wooden houses. Would Keith ever know my pride in being the wife of this talented man, as comfortable in a country home in France as he was in his pulpit back in Missouri? Celebrating 40 years together on this fairy tale trip was beyond the wildest dreams of 16-year-old me. Attracted by a kind and gentle boy, I was now so deeply in love with a godly, dependable man.
***
“Americans!” exclaimed the shopkeeper. “We never get Americans, what brings you to our humble village?” I winked at Keith but did not say we were a bit out of our way.
“Your English is excellent!” I responded. “We are just exploring. It’s so lovely here.”
After a great conversation and several purchases we wandered the cobbled streets. Stepping in the back door of the village church, we were surrounded by thirty voices and the reverberations of a massive organ. My moment of praise and gratitude was lost in the stern corrections of a choir director clearly not pleased with this rehearsal. But the reflections of my heart had already found awe in the depth and strength and stunning richness of the music, the ancient stone work, the people. Life was lived here in a way that makes moments and days telescope into decades and centuries of simple life, both cruel, beautiful and precious. So much like our lifelong marriage, the daily grind had at some point become the daily treasure of companionship and hope, adventure and trust.
***
On the final day of our wanderings, the GPS led us astray one last time and Keith was frustrated to realize we had traveled 50 miles out of our way. But, as we finally turned toward Chateauneuf I gasped with excitement. There on the hillside was surely Cinderella’s castle. Set in an 11th century village that had been a way station for monks and pilgrims, it was clearly untouched by modern updates. Keith enjoyed my delight in the surprise he had planned for so long. He had outdone himself this time.
As I lay under the open window listening to hushed French voices, owls, and creaking gates, I thought of all the people who had lain in this room, close enough to see in the castle windows. Stories beyond my imagination, of people, safe for a night in the protection of the charity of the monks and the strength of the fortress above.
And I thought of our story, forty years of wandering through life together. Quite often without direction, no map, no familiar landmark, but always finding ourselves, safe and protected by the charity of our God and the strength of our faithful love.

Note: True story.

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