Overwhelmed. That’s how I felt the entire time we were in Italy last fall. Though we returned home months ago, I just now sit down and put to words some of my experiences and what God whispered to me.
Growing up in the US, especially in California, we have no concept of old. Our country, our civilization is brand new compared to much of Europe. Everywhere I turned the week we walked the streets of Rome and Florence I was looking at something else ancient, something else historical, something else foreign-ly incredible to my own Californian-turned-Texan experience. And I loved it. I drank it in.
But it was truly overwhelming.
The hardest day for me physically, was the day of our Vatican tour. I woke up not feeling well. At all. Fibromyalgia had quite enough of the walking and sight-seeing, thank you very much. And knew I had a once-in-a-lifetime 3.5-hour walking tour ahead of me that day. No way I was missing out on this, though. Cane in hand and fortified by an American Decaffinato I set of with my fellow travelers. But what I saw resonated in a different way than I expected.
As we walked these endless halls, I was blown away by the sculpture, art, wealth and power displayed in all of the museums. Listening to our or Roman native tour guide, we absorbed the detail of what she was saying, tried to put in context the millennia of time that contributed to what we were seeing.
And finally there we were. In St. Peter’s Basilica.
So many details in the construction, so many details in the architecture, so many details in the artwork, the murano glass mosaics that covered the walls. So many countless hours spent, lifetimes spent, creating something amazing, something beautiful, something entirely meant to glorify God and honor Him for hundreds of years after the artists hands were stilled.
And yet. Do we know the names of the people who spent themselves and their lives creating this? No.
The architects, yes, and some of the main stonemasons, maybe, but not every average person who showed up faithfully and worked six days a week to create this incredible place of beauty, one of the most-known and most-visited in the world. They gave of themselves and of their lives daily, and yet no one says, “Hey look at that column. You know Giuseppe Giovanni made that one? He was a great guy. He kept on showing up, kept giving himself and the gifts God have him, kept doing this to honor and worship God.” But the Basilica and all its splendor wouldn’t stand without that column.
Here’s what resonated with me as I took in the amazing amount of detail in that place of worship. I thought of all the now-nameless individual lives poured out, the results glowing before me.
And thought of my individual life, also poured out.
The things we do every single day, the ways we show up, the tireless efforts at work, at home, in prayer, in each relationship, as we serve others in the world or in our churches, we are building something for the Lord.
Whether anyone ever attaches my name to it is immaterial. Truly.
What matters is those who walk through the basilica off my life someday stop and say, “Wow, God is amazing.” Not “Wow, Kathleen’s a cool gal.”
What am I constructing as I step into each day? What are you crafting? Today, may I be intention with how I use the giftings of God to create the art He means my life to be.
Read, Write, Love, Repeat 
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