On the Hunt for Hidden Treasure

My friend Marilyn is spending a month in Paris and her emails about her adventures along with photos of sidewalk cafes, spring flowers and a Parisian dog or two, are giving me a severe case of wanderlust. 

I asked her if she planned an expedition to the Paris flea markets. 

When my mother and I traveled to Paris a few summers ago, a French flea market was at the top of my can’t-miss-list {after the Louvre and the Eiffel Tower of course}. 

I was hoping to find a few French treasures there, but now when I remember that day, I think of a taxi driver, a group of men at a pub, and a delightfully delicious pizza.

Before I went to Paris, I’d seen glorious photos of stacks of French chairs with curvy legs and tattered fabric lined up on the sidewalk, rows of gilded mirrors leaning against each other and crystal chandeliers resting carelessly on the ground at the flea markets. 

I knew I could never afford to buy anything, let alone figure out how to ship it home, but I still wanted to visit an authentic Paris flea market to find something small enough to fit in my suitcase.

Concerned about pickpockets and the Metro trip, my mother and I decided to take our chances with the Porte de Vanves flea market in the 14th arrondissement instead of the much more famous Les Puces de Saint-Ouen {at Porte de Clignancourt}. It was supposed to be easier to navigate so we took a taxi there. 

Our driver spoke little English but asked if we wanted him to pick us up when we were done. We thought this was amazing and agreed to meet him in 3 hours where he dropped us off.

We crossed the street and when I spotted the gold cherub candelabra wrapped around a tree, I knew we were in the right place. 

We browsed up and down the rows of shoes and clothing, knickknacks and dishes, looking for treasures.  

My mother bought a vintage magazine. I bought a pen and ink drawing of Place de Concorde signed and dated from 1932, a page torn out of a fashion book, and a tiny painted portrait that I thought was beautiful. 

I’m sure I overpaid for all of them, but I wanted souvenirs from a Paris flea market more than I cared about getting a good deal.

I wanted to be reminded of Paris every time I saw my treasures. 

I've been thinking about what God treasures. 

I think it’s people. You and me. 

And I think he wants to be our treasure. 

He wants us to spend time looking for him, lingering in his presence, sharing our secret desires and clingy fears with him. 

He wants to be the conversation we look forward to at the end of a day, the confidante we cherish, the one we bare our souls to. 

He longs to join us in our search for purpose in life, our pursuit of holiness and our quest for happiness.

We can spend a lifetime knowing him and never unearth all the treasure that is God. 

It's a great mystery that the more we know of him, we discover there is far more to adore, more to worship. 

My goal is that they may be encouraged in heart and united in love, so that they may have the full riches of complete understanding, in order that they may know the mystery of God, namely, Christ, in whom are hidden all the treasures of wisdom and knowledge. - Col. 2:2-3

In Paris, when my mother and I were done shopping, we went back to meet the taxi. But he never showed up. 

We searched for a taxi stand, asked directions and couldn't seem to find anyone who spoke English. 

We headed toward what seemed to be a cafe. But it was really a pub. Where we were the only women. 

The bartender finally understood we were looking for a taxi and offered to call one. We thought it might be better to wait outside on the street than stay in the pub.

But a few minutes later a man from the bar came out and in his limited English told us he wanted to wait with us until the taxi arrived. To be sure we were safe, he said. 

Now when I look at my Paris purchases I not only remember the taxi ride to the flea market, but I remember the kindness of men spending their Saturday in a pub.

And I think of the pizza my mother and I ordered as we chose an Italian restaurant in the middle of Paris for lunch after the flea market trip. 

We were famished after our adventure and we thought it was the best pizza we'd ever had.

By the way, my friend Marilyn said she wasn't planning to go to the flea markets since her 90-year-old mother is with her and they are avoiding crowds.

But I wonder if they'll sample the pizza in Paris? I think it's some of the hidden treasure of Paris.

I'm having coffee with my friends at Holley Gerth's place at Coffee for your Heart. Join me there for more inspiring posts from my blogger friends!