I’ve been dreaming about Montpellier for quite some time now. A city in the south of France, full of warm Mediterranean light. I’ve longed to be there, walking along one of the wide, Palm-tree lined streets. Stopping by a bustling market to savour the Latin-flavoured sights and gastronomic smells. Sitting outside a cafe with a perfect espresso, browsing through a book. Or getting into the car with the family and heading to the nearby beaches – superbly sandy with fresh, dark blue waters. A place to rest and feel inspired; to reinvent my identity after so many ups and downs.

The disturbing memory of lockdowns. Contagious and downright deadly virus mutations. War in Europe again. A looming financial recession. I’ve had enough of it! I’ve longed to be revitalised by escaping to Montpellier… but the strange thing about this escapist fantasy of mine is that I know a reality on a personal level, which is even better than this lovely French city. And that’s why I haven’t moved to Montpellier. In a sense, Montpellier has already moved to me. I don’t want to sound super spiritual. Yet here’s a FACT: there’s a special relationship that’s brought me hope in dark times over the years – dramas in hospital, grieving loved ones, unemployment, depression for no particular reason…

We all have our down-life lists but these events don’t need to define us. We weren’t made for that. I hate religion, I really do. Knowing the Lord of life – that’s different. Catching my breath in the invisible presence of God, shown in Jesus Christ, is like swimming in the biggest wave ever. The truth is that my dad in the heavenly realms is the real Montpellier. With him, there’s endless love, endless life and endless joy. That’s simple truth. I don’t need to go to the South of France. The living God is fulfilment of all desire. He is colour in my greyness. The spark of salsa to my drab waltz!

What about you – where is your Montpellier?