The Opening Of The Window

Following our round-about route to Chamonix, we settled into our hotel room, with its windows over-looking the mountains. Even with gray clouds hovering at the tree line, it was a beautiful scene: the spire of a church steeple, the Alpine-style buildings of the village, and the evergreen-clad hills rising in the background. We wondered when or where we would see Mt. Blanc – the highest summit in the Alps – and went to bed hoping for a break in the cloud cover.

The next morning, I drew back the curtain from the window, and there was a snow-clad mountain peak where there had been only clouds the night before. It was as if the mountain had materialized, overnight. Our hostess at the hotel told us they hadn’t seen the mountain in three weeks, so persistent have been the clouds. “If you want to go up the ‘Aiguille de Midi,’ I suggest you do it this morning,” she said, “before the clouds return.” The Aiguille de Midi, translates ‘The Mid-Day Needle.’ It is literally a rock needle at 12,600 feet above sea level. We rode in a gondola and soared up the face of the mountain. Disembarking, the view was breath-taking. At that level, ice and snow were everywhere. We could see mountain climbers and granite cliffs. The thin atmosphere quite literally took our breath away. We spent quite a while up there, snapping pictures and marveling over the amazing views in every direction.

On the way back down, we stopped at the Plan D’Aiguille, a (relatively speaking) level plateau from which hang-gliders were launching themselves off the edges of cliff and soaring in great circles over the valley below…eventually touching down after about a 20 minute flight. Breath-taking, exhilarating enough for me to watch….Jack and Lindsay were wishing they could soar, too.

Predictably, the clouds rolled back in by mid-afternoon and the window on the mountain closed. By day’s end it was pouring rain.

We found a little Reformed Church in Chamonix, and stopped in to join the little congregation for a Bi-Lingual Sunday evening service of praise and prayer. On this evening, with the three of us, the congregation totaled 8! Their pastor was away at a conference, and the service was entirely lay-led. It was simple and informal, and we were grateful to be able to join this gathering of faith, bearing its witness in the midst of the town’s tourism. Among those gathered were a man who’s just finished an assignment with the International Red Cross in Africa, a young woman from the U.K. who has been working in Chamonix this year, the worship leader, who is originally from Zimbabwe, and a couple of permanent residents of Chamonix. Each of us coming from different places, with differing needs, all of us looking for a window to stay connected to God and to a community of faith.

Our Chamonix adventure ended with the opening of yet another window on the mountain. This time, an early morning peek out of the hotel room window yielded nothing but fog---not even the tree line was visible. After I showered and dressed, it was my intention to go downstairs for a leisurely cup of coffee, while waiting for Jack and Lindsay to arise. Taking the spiral staircase down to the lobby, I glanced out the window, and there was the mountain again. In the space of less than ½ hour the fog had lifted completely, and the skies were blue. With just enough time to squeeze in one more Alpine adventure before our planned departure, we boarded the rack-and-pinion Montenvers Train to the Mer de Glace – Sea of Ice…France’s largest glacier.

The little train carried us up 1930 meters above sea level, to look out upon a snaking ribbon of ice, coated with a dusty gray mantle of dirt. The ice descends deep into the earth and winds as far as the eye can see. Intrepid hikers and mountain-climbers were walking across it, en route to ascend and scale the heights. It was impressive to see this chunk of ice, which, like many of our earth’s glaciers, is shrinking.

Looking at the majestic mountains and the diminishing “Sea of Glass,” it is sobering to think that the window could close indefinitely….another reminder to be intentional about the way we live and care for the earth.

Blessings to all,

Cheryl

P.S. I expect this will be my last post from France. We return to the U.S. on Thursday, June 12. I hope to continue the practice of blogging once we are back home.