#23. If It's Heavy, Drop It.

David* shuffled up to our table, backpack on his back and a shopping bag in each hand, along with his sandwich.  His load was made more difficult by the bandage on his right hand, limiting the mobility in his fingers.

“Please, have a seat,” we said.

I went to get him a cup of water, as I could see that he’d already had enough to carry.  

When I returned, he was already in the midst of sharing his story with my friend—how he had essentially lost everything in his life except for what he carried with him in those bags.

“This is it, this is my life,” he said, pointing out his old military uniform.  

“You know, you don’t have to carry that burden on your own,” my friend said.  You can take it, take all of your problems, and put them at the foot of the cross.”

"Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest."

David’s eyes filled with tears, as if he wanted to believe that what she said could be true.  But he shook his head.  “No.  I can’t.”

We talked for quite a while that day, but at the end of the conversation, he picked up his bags again, and he left.  “Oof,” he grunted as he swung his backpack over his shoulder.  “It’s heavy.”

"My yoke is easy and my burden is light."

A few nights later, in a totally different part of the city, I stood waiting for some friends.  I looked around me, not sure from which direction they would come.  I saw a man with a bandaged hand, carrying two bags, walking toward me.

“David?” I asked.  

It was him.  He stopped and we talked.  His burden had only become heavier since the last time I saw him.  I asked him if he needed anything, some food or some money to pay for lodging that night.

“No, no,” he said.  “I found a good spot near the Métro; I’m on my way there now to meet a friend.”

While we were talking, another man came up and asked if we had any money so he could get a bite to eat.  I offered him some and, after he left, again asked David if there was some way I could help him.  

“No, there’s nothing,” he said.  He was convinced that it was up to him to resolve his problems on his own, even though he had no idea how he was going to do it.

I let him know I’d be praying for him anyway, and he picked up his bags and left, saying he hoped we’d cross paths again someday.

I hope so, too.  I hope that the next time I see him, he’ll have some good news to share.  I hope that the next time I see him, he’ll have given up trying to carry his burden on his own.

I can understand how David feels.  I’m a pretty stubborn and independent person.  I don’t like to ask for help.  I don’t like to admit that I can’t figure something out on my own.  But over the years, Jesus has made it clear to me that apart from Him, I can do nothing (John 15:5).  Every time I try, I fail.  Every.  Time.  And it's exhausting.

I don't know the extent of David's burdens, but I do know that they are too heavy for him to carry on his own.  And I know that Jesus is ready and waiting to pick them up, as He has done for me, and as He can do for each person.  But first, we have to be willing to put them down.

"Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.  Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.  For my yoke is easy and my burden is light."  -Matthew 11:28-30

*name changed

#22. I Have a Split Personality.

I spent a lot of time last week looking through old pictures, and as I did so, I had a strange feeling--like I almost didn't recognize myself.

Who is this girl?

This girl--let's call her Emily--is a full-time teacher and Bible study leader in the US.  She has a different activity almost every night of the week.  She goes to hockey games, DVR's Criminal Minds, surfs the Internet for fun science experiments, drinks Dr. Pepper, and always wins at Mad Gab.  She has the best friends in the world.

Yes, that is a donut.
Not everything has changed. :)

This girl--let's call her Emilie--is still trying to find her place a bit in France and has lots of free time.  She sounds like a kid when she speaks, she struggles to pray out loud, she never drives anywhere, and she has to wait until the weekend to talk to her friends in the US.  But she has also made friends from all over the world and can communicate with people who don't speak English at all.  She watches Cyprien videos on YouTube, drinks wine, eats fish(!), and surfs the Internet for fun English ideas.

I wish there was a way for all of the people I love on both sides of the ocean to meet both parts of me, but I don't even think I could adequately explain.  I was, however, able to come pretty close when my parents came to visit a few weeks ago.  They already know Emily better than most people, and they got to spend a few days with Emilie, too.  It was incredibly refreshing to have this time with them, and of course to see them in person after 7 months!

I thought it might be hard when they left, but I actually felt ok.  I really am happy here.  Now I'm starting to make plans to return to the US for the first time since I left, and that makes me both excited and nervous.  Everyone there will be expecting the same Emily to return, but that's not entirely who I am anymore.  What will this Emilie feel like when she makes her first visit to the US?  What things will she see differently?  What things that used to feel comfortable and familiar no longer will?

This cross-cultural living business is no joke.  I spent yesterday with two lovely boys (ages 2 and 5) that I would not have had the chance to meet if I wasn't living here in Lille.  Meanwhile, one of my best friends in the US has a new baby that  I haven't met yet!  And the kids I do know are growing up and changing so quickly that they probably won't even remember me the next time I see them.  But I am grateful for the opportunity to know and love people both here and there, even though that means my heart has to be divided, too (see also You Can Serve God with a Broken Heart).  And I'm even more grateful that when I feel out of place, I can remember that my true citizenship is not in either one of these countries, but in heaven (Philippians 3:20).

"...They did not receive the things promised; they only saw them and welcomed them from a distance, admitting that they were foreigners and strangers on earth. People who say such things show that they are looking for a country of their own. If they had been thinking of the country they had left, they would have had opportunity to return. Instead, they were longing for a better country—a heavenly one. Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God, for he has prepared a city for them."

-Hebrews 11:13-16

The Things That are Missing from Me

People here frequently ask me what I miss the most about the US.  Of course, I am always missing friends and family; that is no surprise.  But what do sometimes catch me by surprise are the little flashes or snapshots of memories--either specific things that have happened in the past, or just general feelings--that come to mind, often at the strangest times.

I don't miss Starbucks coffee, but I do miss "happy hour" with my Westgate friends and colleagues.  (Oh, and I do kind of miss pumpkin spice lattes, too.)

I don't miss watching hockey games as much as I miss watching them with my dad.

Maybe next year, Blues...maybe next year.

It's true that the pizza in the US tastes better (because let's face it, a real pizza has mozzarella, and you eat it with your hands!!).  But when I think of pizza in the US, I don't think of the taste as much as I think of Wednesday nights at junior high youth group, Papa John's day at school (which also happened to coincide with jeans day!), or someone (usually Mom) driving through Illinois and calling to say, "Should I stop at Roma's on my way home?"

In Chicago...and yes, we did stop at Roma's on the way home.

Whether I'm feeling happy, frustrated, or embarrassed (that one happens a lot), I miss coming home to my best friend and roommate and telling her about my day.  

Pirate party!

The last night in our apartment...with our impressive parking lot golf ball collection

There may be other little things that I miss here and there (ex. self-stick stamps, Hidden Valley Ranch dressing, free refills) but they're not important.  Ultimately, it's the people--and the memories I associate with them--that I miss.

This is still a hard phrase for me to express in French.  In English, it's me that does the missing:  Ex. I miss my family.  But in French, it's the thing that is missed that becomes the subject:  Ma famille me manque...which is sort of like saying, "My family is missing from me."  Even though it's more complicated for me to think this way, I like that way of saying it.  I'm completely content and happy here, but I also recognize that there are some things (people) missing from me.

#21. There's a New Kind of Comfortable in Town.

In moving to a new country and a new culture, I knew that I was exiting my old comfort zone, and there was no guarantee if or when I would find a new one.  After just six months of living in France, there are still a lot of things that aren't comfortable--speaking and understanding the language, building new relationships, stepping around piles of dog poo on the sidewalk... 

Recently I was away from Lille for 9 nights--by far the longest since moving here.  I like to travel, but I also like to come back home again.  And while I was away, I experienced a strange feeling of trying to determine exactly where "home" was.  I wondered what it would feel like when I got back to Lille after being away for so long.  Would it feel like coming back home or not?

The first couple of days, I got right back into my routine, and things felt fairly normal.  Monday night I had signed up for Franglish, a local French-English conversation group.  But as the starting time approached, I really didn't feel like going.  I didn't feel like making small talk; I didn't feel like meeting anyone new.  But it was too late to cancel, and I had told one of my classmates that I would be there.  So I went.  And I'm so glad I did!  My French still needs a lot of work, but I continue to see progress in the quality of conversations I am able to have with people. Afterwards, I talked with my two friends from language school, and it was so wonderful to see them!  (It had been a few weeks, since I'm not taking classes at the university this semester.) Then, as we walked toward the Métro together, we heard someone calling to us.  It was another former classmate who had gotten off at the wrong bus stop and was lost!  I don't believe it was a coincidence that we were there at the same time and could walk with her to the Métro.  As I walked and talked with her through the cobblestone streets of Lille, my heart was full of joy to be in that place with these new friends.  It may not be the same kind of comfortable that I feel in the US, but it's definitely something.

Good times with classmates!  I am so thankful for the relationships I've made and am making here.

How to Manifest the French Way

Today was a national day of mourning in France after the attacks in Paris yesterday.  
Above, citizens in Lille observe a minute of silence at noon to show solidarity for the victims.

A couple months ago I was talking with a French friend about cultural differences between France and the US, and I mentioned my surprise at the frequency with which I encounter manifestations (peaceful demonstrations or protests) here.  The next time I saw her, she jokingly asked if I had succeeded in joining a manifestation yet.  Well, tonight, I did!

At 6:00 pm, citizens gathered in La Place de la République, just about a five minute walk from my apartment, to show solidarity for those attacked yesterday in Paris.  When I arrived I saw the place was fairly crowded with people, most of whom were gathered in small groups, talking, smoking, or even laughing.  Is this it? I thought.  Not really what I expected.

However, another cultural observation I’ve made in my time here so far is that the French seem to have a sixth sense for knowing information.  I might be waiting for someone to give instructions, and suddenly, everyone else just seems to know what to do.  Et voilà...at 6:13 pm (I checked my phone) everyone stopped talking, then moved together to the center of the place.  Someone must have moved first or given a signal, but I didn’t see it.  People pressed together, raising pens, colored pencils, and “Je suis Charlie” signs.  

The silence lasted for about five minutes, after which someone started a slow clap (really), gradually picking up speed, and then a chant of “Charlie!  Charlie!”  Then everyone joined together in singing La Marseillaise (the national anthem), followed by another round of applause.  After that, I thought everyone was starting to leave, but they actually spread out and joined hands to form a giant circle around La Place de la République.  There were a few more minutes of silence, after which some people gradually started to leave, and others stayed behind with their signs and candles.

The overall mood seemed peaceful, hopeful, and determined.  No one looked angry.  I got the impression that they weren’t gathered to protest against anything; rather, to show solidarity and support for something—for their countrymen, for freedom of speech, for peace.

I took advantage of the silence to pray for France, as I was reminded that only Christ can truly bring the freedom, justice, and peace for which we all long.

"I am the gate; whoever enters through me will be saved.  They will come in and go out, and find pasture.  The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy; I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full."  -Jesus (John 10:9-10)