He had lived with God's calling ever since he was a little boy. His family didn't understand him when he went to the seminar to educate as a priest, and turned their back when he moved from the big city and found the church God showed him deep into the countryside.
God's beauty was inside him, and he wanted to preach love to the local farmers and fishermen.
When he held his first sermon the church was almost full. Eyes followed him when he preached, but it was impossible for him to tell what the eyes saw.
It took him some time to come out of the church after the service. It all meant so much to him. How would the locals meet him. Would he be accepted.
A crowd was gathered. Their talk silenced when he came out and people started to part. They had a long way home. Some by boat. Others went to get their horses. A few walked. A small child came running up to him with a blue flower, her eyes downcast but he could see a smile playing on her lips.
The years went by. He followed his path. Funerals, weddings, baptisms, Sunday services. Only a few people came to the church these days. The farmers and fishermen were busy and the church was too far away. He was an old man now. All his life he had preached here where His Creator had shown him he belonged. He was lonely. His long nights were spent in silent prayer. "God, you led me here. Give me a sign to make me sure that I have followed your will. Give me a sign that I am here for your people".
No sign came and his nights became darker and more lonely.
She was a young girl when the priest came to the village many, many years ago. After the first sermon she wanted to go forward and welcome him to their church. But nobody else did and she was too shy to go by herself. But before leaving she found a small blue flower which she ran up and gave him.
Since then she had been to church every Sunday. In the beginning the church was crowded, now she could be the only listener.
After the first Sunday she felt that God had a calling for her. For a long time she couldn't understand what it was, but one day she picked up her needle and started to sew. She worked on her piece for years, not knowing at first what she was going to make. Pink and white were not her colours, but between her fingers they blended and got life.
The years passed. She had a busy life working on her brother's farm. His children adored her, and when their own mother died giving birth to her 7th child, she was there for them.
She didn't have much time for her needles and for years the white and pink was stored in her old chest.
Her nephews and nieces grew up, her brother died and time was again hers. During long, lonely nights she kept on with her sewing. Now she knew what she was making.
He was deep in prayers one night when he heard a light knock on the door. Last Sunday there had been only one person in the church. An old woman. He knew she had been in church every Sunday since he came, but she was so shy and always left before he had the opportunity to speak to her. He pleaded God for a sign. "Why God did you send me here. Here is no place for me. Take me back to the big city of my youth. Take me back to where I lived among music, paintings, art, fellow litterature lovers. I can not endure this plain life any longer"
He heard the knock again. Louder this time. Stiffly he rose from his prayers and walked to the door. "Please God, let this be the sign I have been praying for"
When he didn't open after her first knocking she almost lost her courage. How could she imagine that he would accept her gift. How could she imagine that her humble sewing could be a piece of sacred art in his church. She turned and was about to go home. She would tuck the gown she had made back into her old chest and keep it there as a remembrance of her proudness. Then she heard God's calling again. "Knock, and the door shall be opened for you."
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