Bruxelles to Brugge

Belgium lived up to all of its hype. Beer, waffles, chocolate, fries, mussels and I’ll never forget that Carbonnades Flamandes. A tender beef drenched in a creamy dark beer battered sauce. This traditional dish had me weak in the knees!

So, I was completely unaware they speak French in Bruxelles and Flemish in Brugge. I’m getting one heck of a history lesson. 

Two very beautiful things happened in Belgium. First, on Saturday after a free walking tour through Bruxelles I felt a pull towards a Cathedral. I headed back towards the building that took over seven hundred years to finish. Like the others I’ve seen, it was breathtaking. After taking way too many pictures, I decided to sit down and write. Then something wonderful happened, a service began. I didn’t need to understand Flemish to know what was happening. I spent twelve years going to Catholic school.

The organ played, the locals sang. The structure was mind blowing. I couldn’t believe what I was witnessing. Then the priest broke bread and we did communion. Hello, how cool is that!
I walked out refreshed to a city center full of people. It so happened to be gay pride day. Everyone was going wild. The street was filled with blaring music, people drinking and dancing. Rainbow flags being waved from side to side. It was a sight to see!
Second, our guide Peter, an English lad with an art degree, sat across from me on the train back from Brugge and said, “You were reading a book with gold leaf trim.” This opened a whole discussion about God and my faith. His parents are “religious” a word I don’t like to use to describe my relationship with The Lord. Peter was raised with this foundation but decided it wasn’t for him. What he revealed to me during our conversation, like most I’ve encountered, was that he did not want to change his life. He knows there’s a God, but won’t make that sacrifice. (The best sacrifice any of us could ever make.) I saw something in Peter. Hope. All I did was answer his questions. I didn’t judge him or become impatient. 
Every time I get the opportunity to share my testimony and love for my Savior Jesus Christ I ask to be filled with the Holy Spirit. So He can guide my words. He knows what needs to be said.
When we all returned to Bruxelles Peter joined me for a drink at Delirium. For me, the perfect opportunity to continue our discussion. That’s exactly what happened. His buddy, Doug, accompanied us. Doug wasn’t as open about God, but he said, “you seem really convinced.” Of course I am! I replied, “I may not be able to show you proof, but He is very real.” It saddened my heart to hear him say there’s nothing after you die. You just become apart of the soil. Ouch! Imagine that.
Anyway, it was a full on discuss about God and I’m so thankful that He is using me. This is why I’m here, to spread the word of God. And even after our talk, Doug invited me to a concert. It was sold out, but they had a plan. Peter licked his freshly stamped wrist, pressed it against mine revealing a very light mark. I walked up to the bouncer, showed him my wrist. He pulled it close to his face and squinted his eyes. I told him I washed my hands. That worked. He re-stamped my arm and I was in.
The Mac de Marco concert was groovy. It’s amazing what happens when you surrender your life. I am living! It’s been nothing but blessing after blessing. I am humbled to be where I am. Thank you, Father!

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