by Max Lucado
I fell asleep in the Louvre.
The most famous museum in the world. The best-known building in Paris. Tourists are oohing and aahing, and that’s me, nodding and snoring. Seated on a bench. Back to the wall. Chin to my chest. Conked out.
The crown jewels are down the hall. Rembrandt is on the wall. Van Gogh is one floor up. The Venus de Milo is one floor down. I should have been star struck and wide eyed.
Denalyn was. You’d have thought she was at Foley’s Red Apple sale. If there was a tour, she took it. If there was a button to push, she pushed it. If there was a brochure to read, she read it. She didn’t even want to stop to eat.
But me? I gave the Mona Lisa five minutes.
Shameful, I know.
But it wasn’t my fault. I like seventeenth-century art as much as the next guy … well, maybe not that much. But at least I can usually stay awake.
But not that day. Why did I fall asleep at the Louvre?
Blame it on the bags, baby; blame it on the bags. I was worn out from lugging the family luggage. We checked more suitcases than the road show of the Phantom of the Opera.
I can’t fault my wife and daughters. They learned it from me. Remember, I’m the one who travels prepared for an underwater wedding and a bowling tournament. It’s bad enough for one person to travel like that, but five? It’ll wear you out.
You think I’ll ever learn to travel light?
I tell you what. Let’s make a pact. I’ll reduce the leather bags, and we’ll both reduce the emotional ones. After all, it’s one thing to sleep through the Louvre but quite another to sleep through life.
We can, you know. Do we not dwell in the gallery of our God? Isn’t the sky his canvas and humanity his magnum opus? Are we not encircled by artistry? Sunsets burning. Waves billowing.
And isn’t the soul his studio? The birthing of love, the bequeathing of grace. All around us miracles pop like fireflies—souls are touched, hearts are changed, and…
Yawn. We miss it. We sleep through it. We can’t help it. It’s hard work carrying yesterday’s guilt around.
It’s also enough to make you miss the magic of life.
Then let’s get rid of the bags! Once and for all, let’s give our luggage to him. Let’s take him at his word! “Come to me, all of you who are weary and carry heavy burdens, and I will give you rest” (Matt. 11:28 NLT).
From Traveling Light
Copyright (W Publishing Group, 2004) Max Lucado
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