Out of Balance

Yesterday I learned something a little disturbing about myself: I'm lopsided.

An x-ray revealed that the cause of my hip pain is a 1.3 cm difference between the height of my hips, which may in fact be related to a car accident that I was in over a year ago. While trying to avoid hitting the car that suddenly stopped in front of me, while my right foot was firmly tensed up pressing the brake pedal, I was rear-ended. My hip took the shock, and got a little boost in height.

I need to go back to my doctor to discuss treatment options, but the radiologist suggested that it could be as simple as putting inserts in my left shoe to even me out. This would then relieve the extra pressure that my hip is bearing trying to compensate for the imbalance, and theoretically, the soreness should go away.

Isn't it interesting how a small problem can create intense discomfort? How a hidden injury can go unnoticed for months, and then seemingly suddenly become a major pain? Our bodies aren't the only things in our lives that must be balanced to be healthy. So as I sit here (probably at a slant!) I find myself wondering if I might be out of balance in other ways.

When work overtakes me and rest escapes me, I get out of balance.

When playing golf on the PlayStation replaces my daily walk, I get out of balance.

When FaceBook connections get more attention than family relations, I get out of balance.

When worries about moving occupy more of my thinking than the joys in the moment, I get out of balance.

When expenditures surpass income, I get out of balance.

When administrative tasks absorb the time that should be given to creative endeavors, I get out of balance.

Summer is a great time to take an X-Ray of my life to see where I may need to make some minor adjustments. Most committments are on "pause" and so I have the opportunity to evaluate where I need to put more weight, and where I need to lighten the load. It also gives me a chance to consider where I have had a sudden jolt that may have produced a hidden injury and caused me to compensate in unhealthy ways.

David and I usually take time around our anniversary (August 22) to do that very thing. It is a time of reflection and recalibration so that we can make needed course corrections for the coming year. David makes a chart (of course he does!) that helps us to identify our major role/activities and take stock of where we are and where we would like to be. We look at both individual pursuits and things that we do together. We actually give ourselves and each other "grades" in each arena so that we can easily see where things are going well and where we need to do some work.

Therefore, strengthen the hands that are weak and the knees that are feeble, and make straight paths for your feet, so that the limb which is lame may not be put out of joint, but rather be healed. Hebrews 12: 12-13

What do you do to "x-ray" your life and make needed adjustments so that you don't get out of balance?

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Good News/ Bad News

Good News: I finished my summer term of seminary, and I now have a break until September! I am eager to read FICTION, get back into a regular rhythm of blogging, and begin working on plans for a new ministry endeavor that I have brewing in my head.

Bad News: Our third application for an apartment in Lyon was denied.

Good News: Some very dear friends have offered to be co-signers for us, so our next application has a fighting chance!

Bad News: I (who almost NEVER play video games) have become addicted to a Play Station game called Hot Shots Golf. No, I don't golf in real life. But I'm beginning to understand the attraction. I'm having to self-impose limits on my gaming time, and while I can stick to my limits, I'm amazed at how confining they feel. And for the record, I totally blame Chandler, who had actually started praying that we would find a video game that I like to play.

Good News: I'm getting good at Hot Shots Golf. Yesterday I even beat David. I shot a -11 on 18 holes in Okinawa.

Bad News: My hip, which started hurting back in October, has worsened. I'm going in for an x-ray next week.

Good News: A hip x-ray in France costs 27,50€. That's a little over $30 with today's exchange rate. For reals.

Bad News: If the x-ray shows any sign of arthritis (which my doctor says is unlikely given my age, but still a possibilty) I will have to stop running.

Good News: If the x-ray shows any sign of arthritis I get to stop running!

Bad News: We won't be taking a vacation this summer--moving is our big splurge.

Good News: We still have some time off in August, which we will (hopefully) be able to use to get settled in Lyon. And exploring our new city will feel sort of like a vacation! Except the packing. I hate packing.

Bad News: I need to pack.

Good News: When all things are offered up to the Lord, bad news is made good. That's the gospel, Friends. Beauty from ashes. From video games to x-rays to packing--I rejoice, for my redemption draws near.

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The Bac Results

French Bac results are posted on the door of the main office of the Lycée, and since we live right accross the street from the Lycée, we have witnessed the excitement of this day every summer for the past four years. Students arrive, nervous. Then they quickly scan the pages, looking for their name. Chandler's school has a 97% pass rate, so for the most part students are not too worrried about passing, they are curious to find out if they received a "mention," which is what I think Americans would call an "honor."

The grading system is a complex formula that assigns varying coefficients to each subject matter depending on the chosen major of the student. For example, as a Science Major, Chandler's math, biology, and Physics/chemistry exams had the highest coefficients, while history, philosphy, and languages had lower coefficients. The highest possible grade is 20/20. A student must acheive 10/20 to pass. Honors are given for 12-14/20 ( Assez Bien or Satisfactory), 14-16/20 (Bien or Well Done) and 16-18/20 (Très Bien or Very Well Done). Anything over 18 is extremely rare, but when it happens the student receives a Very Well Done plus the congratulations of the jury.

This year, the event had personal significance, since Chandler's results would be posted on those doors. It's a quintessentially French moment...there are no graduation ceremonies, no caps and gowns, just the day of results coupled with millions of text messages offering congratulations (or condolences, as the case my be). Once the students see their posted results, they can pick up their official results in the office, which gives the breakdown of their perfomance in each subject area. Then they gather with their classmates and compare notes. Here you can see Chandler (in orange) consulting with his friends.

Chandler passed with a "mention Bien," which is signified by the B after his name in the photo below. (By the way, that is a reflection of our house in the photo, Chandler's name written on our roof!) Professors also gather at the school to congratulate students on their results. Chandler's professors were pleased with his results, some were clearly emotional. They have watched him fight these past four years, having to learn French while preparing for this major exam. Their respect for what he has accomplished and their delight in his success was was evident in their words and demeanor. 

Chandler's overall score was 15/20, but he was most pleased with his score on the Math section--a perfect 20/20. For us, the greatest achievement has been his perseverance, his resilliancy, and his faithfulness. He has done a really hard thing with amazing tenacity and a brilliant attitude. We couldn't be more proud. 

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High Anxiety

I'm not much of a worrier, or so I thought, until last year when I suffered through a season of panic attacks. Apparently, I simply repress worry until the worry stages a revolt, demanding to be heard through a racing heart beat, sensations of sheer terror, and shortness of breath. Suddenly Cool Jenn was outed by Freaked-Out Jenn. Worry was winning and I had to find a new way to cope.

Over the past year, the Lord has done deep and important work, gently inviting me to cooperate with the process, but clearly leading the way. I'm learning to face my fears--which means I have to admit they exist in the first place, darn it! Because the scary thing about fears is that they reveal root sins like a lack of faith, inordinate attachments, a need to control, and pride. God is teaching me to name these little buggers, confess them as sin, and find freedom. And I am being transformed by this process.

But over the past week, I've started feeling the flutters of anxiety once again.

We need to move to Lyon, but we are having trouble finding an apartment. Even though we meet all income requirements, our applications are being refused because we are foreigners and we don't have a co-signer. We have faced this monster before, and God always makes a way, but I'm feeling pressures of time. I know this is not a life or death issue and I know in the end it will all work out. But today? Today I'm struggling to find peace. My mind knows the truth, my soul stands firm, but my body is starting to revolt.

Providentially, I've been slowly working my way through the Sermon onthe Mount, and I recently came to section on anxiety.

Consider the lilies of the field....

Lilies don't work. They don't try to control or cajole or manipulate. They bloom in their season, tall and bright, clothed in glory but seemingly unaware of their own splendor.

Consider the birds of the air....

Birds don't worry. They don't wile away their summer wondering what will happen in the fall. They sing the glory of their creator, confident of His unending care.

And I serve a God who invites me to engage life like a lily, like a bird.

Jesus, help me to turn my impatience to praise, and my anxiety to "amen." Let me rest in the blessed assurance that you who clothe the lilies and feed the birds will not fail to meet my every need. 

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Learning to Stop

Life has been a bit irregular.

Due to travel and transitions, I have seen my husband a total of 13 days out of the past 10 weeks.

Since October 1, I have slept in 7 different beds in 7 different cities and spent over 50 hours traveling by plane, train, and automobile.

And (much to our delight) some of our dearest friends came to visit us from the States, so of the 13 days that David and I have spent together, 3 of them were spent hostng a wonderful and generous family in our home. Yestderday, David went with those friends to Paris for a few days. He'll come home tomorrow.

So today I woke up at 6 a.m. (like I do every weekday), planning to spend an hour alone with the Lord, then go to morning prayer, followed by a 5 mile run. After that I planned to attend a small group and get busy with my homework and all of the ministry responsibilities that I have placed on the backburner. Oh, and I need to schedule a hair cut for Chandler, and take his watch in for repair, and..., and..., and....

Did I mention that in this time frame I celebrated my Dad's 80th birthday with family (Graham was there! So I hugged the stuffing out of him!). Or that my Mom had a total knee replacement followed by post-operative complications that landed her in the cardiac ward?

And then, two days ago, our clothes dryer stopped working.

Anyway, all of that is why I say, "Life has been a bit irregular."

Having Type A tendencies (read: DRIVEN) I just keep plowing ahead, resisting fatigue (no time for jetlag!) and denying the fact that I feel completely overwhelmed.

I tell myself things (half-truths, really) like, "Life is tough all over, suck it up, Buttercup. Nobody likes a whiner." The whole truth is, I am so afraid of appearing weak--or worse, failing--that I forget that my life, and all its craziness, is meant to be lived in surrender to God, not according to my own precious plans.

So, when I woke up at 6 a.m. to spend time alone with God, he spoke very clearly to me.

"Go back to bed."

"But God, I need to run!"

"No, you have been running, you need to rest."

"But God, I have JOB! There is ministry I need to do."

"You are taking a personal day. Cancel all appointments. Now."

"But God, I'll get behind in my classes."

"You'll learn everything you need to know."

"The sabbath is just two days away. You know I always rest on the Sabbath. I can make it two more days.

"When was the time you took a Sabbath?"

"September. The last Saturday in September. No wonder I'm tired."

"Go back to bed," God said. "And when you wake up, here is your agenda:

• Write a Blog
• Play a game with Chandler
• Take Gemma on a Walk
• Read a book
• Crochet"

If life could be likened to a game of "Red Light, Green Light," I'd say I'm pretty good at "Go, go, go." I 'm still learning to "Stop."

Today I finally stopped. I went back to bed and slept until 10 a.m. I'm thankful for God who ordains rest.

For he grants sleep to the ones that he loves.

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My Bench

A bench sits in the entry way

To welcome weary guests

To beckon them to stop and stay

And linger in our nest

The bench is meant to bear much weight

For once it was a pew

Where faithful men and women prayed

And worshiped Jesus, too

But my son has another aim

For the bench that I love

And so the squatter has staked his claim

I fear he will not budge

Alas! Chandler a locker lacks

And so, as you can see

His school day lands in clumsy stacks

Upon my bench indeed.

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iDropped

On Friday, the unthinkable happened.

I dropped my iPhone in the toilet.

I had put it in my back pocket, and when I went to use the facilities, well, it sort of slipped out and SPLASH!

After a moment's hesitation, I plunged my bare hand into the depths and boldly retrieved my sunken friend, somehow feeling grateful that it was, at least, my own toilet.

But the screen was black. He was already dead.

I removed the bionic casing that would have protected my phone had I dropped it from my upstairs window. And then, after some basic sanitation efforts, I placed it in a bowl of rice. All of the advice on the Internet suggested leaving the phone in the rice for at least 24 hours. I left it for 48.

When I finally pulled it from the rice, and charged it, I discovered that the sound was working, but the screen was completely blank. I could hear alerts and talk to Siri, but I could not answer calls or read emails or shuffle through music.

So I left it for another day. Still no change.

David, who knows my propensity for accidental phone destruction, had purchased the maximum possible insurance plan. "Just go down to the phone store, Jenn," he encouraged me, "They'll replace your phone."

This morning I stood in a crowded cell phone store, awaiting the assistance of the one and only clerk. When it was my turn I told him my sad story.

"I dropped my phone in the toilet."

He asked my phone number, looked up my insurace plan, and said, "All you have to do is tell me that this did not happen at home."

I stared at him blankly. "But it did happen at home," I said.

"If this happened at home, it is not covered by your insurance plan. If this happened anywhere else in the world, I can replace your phone."

"But I am not going to lie to you," I said, sort of astounded at this odd turn of events.

"Madame, just tell me this happened in a bar, and I will get you a new phone." Everyone in the store was staring at me, listening in on our conversation.

"Monsieur, it happened in my house. And I think it is ridiculous that the insurance won't cover it, but I will not lie about what happened."

So he silently handed the phone back to me.

"How much would a replacement cost?" I asked, exasperated. I had already been three days without a phone, and since we don't have a home phone it is my only means of contact.

"It would be 400€, the full price of a new phone. You used all of your points six months ago when you got this phone and so you won't be eligible for any reductions for another year and a half."

Ugh. I had gotten the phone for 1€ because of my points, and now it was going to cost me 400€ to replace it? Unbelievable.

"Is there any way it can be repaired?" I asked, defeated.

"When an iPhone falls in the water, it's over. There is nothing that can be done."

Five other customers stared at me, sympathetic.

I took my phone and walked out the door. Tears welled up in my eyes. In the past week I learned that our car needs an 800€ repair and there is no way I can afford a new phone this month, not even the most simple phone--seeing as I would be paying full price.

I sighed one of those prayers that has no words and started walking home. I inadvertantly glanced down at the dead phone in my hand, when all of a sudden, for no apparent reason, the screen lit up.

It 's fully funtioning; alive.

I'm thinking of renaming it Lazarus.

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GEM Annual Conference

We just got home from Willingen, Germany, where we attended our GEM annual Conference. It was a time of learning, refreshment, and best of all, great fellowship with our colleagues working throughout Europe. We heard stories about the work of God, we were encouraged in our journey, and we were challenged to take greater risks for the Kingdom.

Our dear friend and ministry partner, Raphaël Anzenberger, was invited by GEM to teach a few of the general sessions and one breakout session. Here we are pictured with Raphaël and his wife Karen (next to me in the photo) and Henry Deneen, the President of GEM, and his wife Celia (next to David in the photo).

Meanwhile, our boys were at a hotel down the road, enjoying a youth conference for GEM Kids. See if you can find Chandler (hint: he's sporting a mustache) and Graham (hint: he's hugging his beloved). 

 

We hit the ground running upon our arrival home, as I am getting ready to head to the States for Orientation at George Fox Evangelical Seminary (the program is on-line, but there are some on-site requirments spaced throughout the year), Chandler gears up start his final year of Lycée (High School in France), and Graham prepares to transition back to the States to start college. David will be accompanying Graham to help with his transition. 

Please pray for us in the coming months as we will be often separated by geography though united in spirit! Pray for God to continue to stregthen us for the work ahead. We are excited about the many ministry opportunities that are open before us, delighted to have the privilege to work by HIS strength and for HIS glory here in France.

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My Parenting Book

"You should write a parenting book!" Graham said. 

First, let me just say that I cannot imagine higher words of praise from a fully grown son--the same son who reminds me daily that I have failed tremendously in training my dog. He won't be suggesting that I author a canine obedience book. 

Second, let me tell you why I doubt that I will ever write a parenting book. I won't do it because I am convinced there is no one formula, no one method, no one system that works. I read every parenting book that I could get my hands on, and while many wise authors informed my approach to parenting, none of them turned out to have THE ANSWER. Each family, child, and situation is unique, with innumerable variables. Parenting books offered some helpful insights, but many seemed to suggest that if I did X then my child would do Y. So I would do X, but my child would do Z. Z wasn't in the book. The variable that emerged in my house always seemed to be uncharted territory. Which made me feel like a failure. 

And I was.

Yes, I was. And I am. 

I remember once when I was frustrated as young mom, feeling like I was trying every possible godly discipline tactic in the many parenting books that I had read, and not seeing any results in my children, I cried out in anguish to God! I wanted to be a perfect parent, and I knew I was failing because my kids were a mess. 

Gently, God whispered a question to my heart, "Who is the only perfect parent?" 

"You, Lord!" I quickly replied. Indeed, he is the only Father who has never failed.

"Well," he replied, "Look at my kids!"

Aha! SO even the perfect parent--God Himself-- has messed up kids. Which means that my kids, who have flawed parents--are doomed to be disasters. You know why? Because my kids, like me, are sinners. Even when they were babies. Especially when they were toddlers. And when Graham was between the ages of 5 and 8, I was pretty sure I was going to kill him. 

I used to look at my misbehaving boys, shake my head, and think, "You little sinners!" 

Poor little sinners with parents who fail. What hope did they possibly have?

It turns out that little sinners don't need perfect parents, they need parents who know what to do with imperfection. Sin is a genetic disease. I passed it on to my kids, and I don't have the cure. Thankfully, the One Perfect Parent is also the Great Physician. 

And so it seems that parenting is about a couple of hungry beggars teaching their kids where to go for bread. The temptation is to think we have some bread to give them--that we can meet their needs. But we can't. We can only point them to the one who can. 

Therefore, if I wrote a parenting book it would consist of 18 words:

Cling to Jesus like he's your only hope, because he is. Teach your children to do the same. 

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iPlunged

I just got an iPhone. I chose it because I needed wanted a new phone and our cellular provider was offering the iPhone 4s (an older version) for 1€. Now the boys have started calling me their iMom as I am the first person in our family to have an iPhone. All I know is that I need my iGlasses to read just about anything on said iPhone.

I did learn how to silence all my notifications during the night so that I can use my iPhone as an alarm without hearing chiming and dinging and barking all night. That's a cool feature. And I like that the agenda that I use on my iPad will now be in sync with the agenda on my phone, which wasn't possible before. For the first time in my life, I downloaded music so that I can use my iPhone as an iPod. Awesome. 

But I have this lurking fear that I've crossed over to the dark side. Because Mac enthusiasts scare me. You Mac people have a bit of a superiority complex when it comes to your computers. You really, truly believe that your Macs are in every way better than any kind of PC, that they are the answer to every computer problem, a technology messiah of sorts. Honestly, I just don't see it. 

Yet. I do LOVE my iPad and my iPhone. I love the silky softness of their touch screens. I love the amazing responsiveness. I love the way everything is so easily integrated and accessible. Dang it! Am I becoming one of you? 

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Ten Totally Trivial Tidbits

1. I have been having some weird dreams. WEIRD! And normally I don't remember my dreams, but these ones have been sticking with me like a stamp to a letter. They include me falling off a dam that was spilling contaminated water, getting overwhelmed in a mini-mart when there were only two things on my shopping list, and taking a shower in a stall so tiny that the shower curtain was clinging to my fully-clothed (but not wet) body. Any dream-analysis-specialists want to tackle those images? The good news? Dreaming = Sleeping.
2. The animals still have fleas, but I think they have fewer fleas than they used to. Either that, or I'm no longer noticing them as much. Should I be happy about that?
3. Chandler just got his grades for the second trimester and he is NUMERO UNO in his class. While he has the highest overall average, his Spanish grade is not so bueno. Fortunately, High School level classes in France are weighted based on one's major. Since Chandler is working towards a Science major, his math and science classes have a coefficient of 6 or 7, while classes like Spanish and PE have a coefficient of 2. Thus, he can basically flunk Spanish and stay in first place for his overall average. On the bright side, he's not only acing Math and Science, but English and PE as well!
4. David invented a recipe that consists of meatballs on a nest of green beans drizzled in a soy-ginger sauce. It's De-Lish! He's been trying to come up with a clever name for it, but so far he is striking out. Any help?
5. In all of my crazy dreams, I do NOT need reading glasses. Which is one thing I really like about my dreams because, sadly, this is no longer my reality. 
6. I'm preaching this week on the book of Judges, talking about the cycle that is repeated at least 8 times in that old testament book: Idolotry-->Slavery-->Cry out to the Lord-->God sends a deliverer (a judge)-->a few years of peace-->Idolotry, and the cycle repeats. It strikes me that idolatry always leads to slavery. Always. So be careful what you worship.
7. When I reviewed my sermon with my language helper she only found 24 errors. I know that sounds like a lot, but there used to be like a million, so 24 is not so bad. UGH! Actually most of the errors were really teeny-tiny mistakes. But still. I'm just sick of making mistakes in French; Sick. Of. It. So I'm spending an hour day studying French right now, expanding my vocabulary, memorizing which prepositions go with which verbs, and brushing up on definitive articles. Fun stuff.
8. I bought Tulips at market last week, and they make me really happy. Tulips are the heralds of Spring!
9. Read the WOOL series by Hugh Howley. It was a fun bit of science fiction, definitely kept my attention. I am now reading a piece of French contemporary fiction called The Elegance of the Hedgehog. Totally different style of fiction and just as compelling. Dark, cynical, yet funny. I'm only a few chapter in, so I can't recommend it, but I'm enjoying it. I'm also in the middle of a book called The Jesus Model which is by Dietrich Schindler, a German church planter. He presents a church planting model based on what Jesus did. Very good read, and lots of great information for anyone involved in discipleship at any level.
10. I think I need a new cell phone. What's the average shelf-life for a mobile phone? I've had mine for three and a half years, and it mostly works fine, I'm just sick of it. Must I wait for it to die? 

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Special Offer!

I try to shop the deals--I like to buy what's on sale. And usually, I can build a nice menu around the grocery store's weekly specials. Usually. Sometimes I run into some snags. 

Like last week, when there was bargain on pig's feet. Nope, haven't pinned anything on Pinterest that could help me with that one. Moving on...

Oh look! Pig kidney! I could make...um...is this what the Brit's use for Kidney Pie. I wonder. Maybe next time...

Here's a delicacy. Veal head. Boneless! Oh goodie, that makes it so much easier to prepare. Yeah, veal head, it's what's for dinner. Not!

Now word on the street is that this makes a great stew. It's cow's tongue. I plan to try it someday, when my stomach stops churning at the thought.

Well, there's always pig's heart. Look, a four pack--perfect for my family. Only I'm not sure if I should grill them or roast them. Maybe recipes.com could give me some help.

Mostly I feel totally at home in France, and truly the food here is great. But every now and then I have a "Toto, we're not in Kansas anymore" moment. Which is exactly how I felt when eyeing last week's specials.

 

 

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A Leader Suffers

"There is a cost that leaders must pay if they are to lead in the way of Christ. Suffering and sacrifice are not an anomaly. They are not a sign of failure. They are not early tests which you outgrow and move past. Sacrifice and suffering are the warp and woof of Christian leadership." Brian Rice, Invitations.

Christian leaders necessarily suffer. But we don't like that, so we turn to preachers like Joel Osteen and Joyce Meyer who drive their big cars and promise that God wants to bless us, too. As if blessing = freedom from hardship. And somewhere, deep down, we desperately want to believe that if we do this Christian life well, God will bless us. If we serve and give and pray and go to church, surely God will notice how good we are and toss us some heavenly cookies. We pray prayers of safety and protection, telling ourselves that God's good, pleasing, and perfect will could not possible include sorrow and suffering.

But what if God not only allows suffering in my life, what if he wills it? What if he wants to use it to shape who I am and how I lead?

"What kind of God would will for his children suffer?" I audaciously ask this question as if I am somehow more loving or kind than the God who voluntarily suffered for my sins. As if I would never be so cruel if I were God.

And yet, as a parent there were many times that I ordained suffering for my boys. The painful prick of a polio vaccine, the sting of a wooden spoon wielded by my own hand, the denial of a much wanted treasure that I had the means to provide, a transcontinental move during adolescence. I willed such suffering into their lives, and I dare say that I did so in love--in heart-wrenching, tear-spilling, hope-cherishing love. Yes, I am the kind of parent that willing allowed such suffering in the lives of my boys.

Some would prefer to attribute all suffering to Satan. And while I would agree that the enemy works overtime to bring harm to God's children, he cannot do anything to us that has not been approved by God. Consider Paul's thorn:

Therefore, in order to keep me from becoming conceited, I was given a thorn in my flesh, a messenger of Satan, to torment me. Three times I pleaded with the Lord to take it away from me. But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” 

It appears that the suffering (or thorn) was inflicted by Satan, yet God allowed it to remain. And rather than grouse about it, Paul learned to delight in it, seeing the power of God's grace in the midst of his suffering.

As I lead in life and ministry, suffering is my promised companion. The question is, will I continually try to shirk it, resisting its work in my life, or will I learn to embrace it?

This week I was studying Paul's suffering as he describes it in 2 Corinthians when I got a text message from the renter of our house in Spangle. Due to the sudden thawing of massive amounts of snow, the ground floor of our house had a foot of standing water in it. This is our third flood in less than 8 years. Paul's words ran through my mind. In 2 Corinthians 6, Paul mentions:

afflictions...

hardships...

calamities...

sleepless nights...(I claim this as my own personal thorn, since I have sleepless nights even during the best of times!)

Suffering sucks. I guess you could say that I felt like I had paid my "natural disaster"dues. A third flood? Really? I can't like it. And here we are trying our best to serve the Lord in France! Could he not have held back the waters? I want my heavenly cookies!

It turns out I'm much better at discussing suffering theoretically. I detest it practically. Apparently God does not consider book-knowledge on the subject to be sufficient. So he's taking me on a field trip. I had a completely human response to this third invasion of my home. Shock. Then denial. I sent my parents an email, and the subject line said, "Our house flooded again." The body read, "I don't want to talk about it."

That was the state I was in when I headed out the door yesterday to do my weekly grocery shopping. Weird things happen to your thinking in crises like these. I found myself wondering if we could afford "extras" like popcorn when we have no way of paying our mortgage next month. As I was debating whether or not canned peaches (for a Valentine's dessert) could make the budgetary cut, a woman from our community choir stopped to say, "Hello."

I don't even know this woman's name, to tell you the truth, but as she asked all of the perfunctory questions, such as "How are you?" I felt compelled to mention the flooding of our house in the States--a sure sign that I was coming out of my state of denial. After hearing my sad tale, she asked, "Why does God allow suffering?" She is a self-admitted skeptic who knows that I work at the Protestant church in town, but her question seemed sincere. So there between the jellies and canned fruits, I shared the Gospel. She teared up at one point, but quickly pulled it together. Questions loomed in her eyes.

"Would you like to get together to read the Bible sometime?" I offered. She said she would think about it, and I believe she really will.

We don't always see the reasons for our suffering. Like the prick of a vaccine on a baby's chubby thigh, we feel the pain but have no understanding of it's purpose. Yet every now and then God gives us a glimpse of where he's working, weaving beauty from ashes. If my suffering means that someone will hear the Gospel for the first time, might I more gladly bear the burden? How many floods would I willing endure if they led to her salvation?

My friend at the grocery store saw my hurt and disappointment, but she also heard the reason for the hope that I have. God called me out of the darkness of denial to bring his light into a different darkness--one with eternal consequences. My suffering was no longer a personal matter--and this is key--because leaders rarely have the privilege of private pain.

As suffering does its work in my life, it changes how I lead. The temptation is to let suffering turn me inward, but Christian leaders are called out in their suffering. God wants my pain to become a conduit for his grace to pour into a lost and desperate world. If I let it, suffering teaches patience, compassion, and faith. It fertilizes my prayer life, refines my theology, and creates a space for greater intimacy with the Lord.

And when I lead out of that kind of brokenness, I lead humbly, I lead gently, I lead like Jesus.

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French Test

I'm in the midst of a French Test. I'm trying to get an honest assessment of my current level so that I can be more intentional about continuing to progress.

Yesterday I took the Oral Expression part of the test, today I took the Written Expression part. I still have to do Oral and Written Comprehension. Some days I think that I am never going to get this language down.

The funny thing is, many mono-ligual American would consider us to be bilingual at this point. We are not. Chandler is the closest, and even he thinks he has a long way to go.

Language learning has its benefits, though. It helps me to stay humble. It helps me to stay dependent on others. It helps me not to take myself too seriously. It helps me to think before I speak, and it definitely keeps me from rambling on. I don't waste words in French, I only say what is absolutely necessary!

Yesterday I was on a three hour conference call with three French men. I barely uttered a peep. At the end, one of the guys said, "Hey, we didn't hear much from you." Another guy said, "That's because we kept cutting her off!" Which was true. But in English, I'm pretty sure I would've made myself heard. I'd have pushed harder. I'd have spoken louder. In French, I'm much better at shutting up. 

The funny thing is, there was one point where I thought something really needed to be said, so I kept trying to get a word in edgewise. I tried and tried to express one pertinent thought, and I couldn't get a break. After 15 minutes of this, one of the guys finally said the very thing that I had been trying to say. I sat back satisfied. It turns out that I really didn't care who got credit for idea, I just knew the idea would be helpful and I wanted it to get shared. Which makes me wonder if I might even be a nicer person in French than I am in English.

So no matter what results I get on this French Test, I'll still keep working on it. But I hope that as my skills progress, I'll be able to keep what my ineptness has taught me.

There really is beauty in weakness. 

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Ten Totally Trivial Tidbits

1. Last week David and Graham helped to lead worship at an ecumenical service in Loches. Every January we join together with the Catholic church in our town for a Wednesday evening service, focusing on the things we have in common, which are, honestly, the main things--salvation through Christ alone, unity in the Holy Spirit, and love for the Father. 

2. I do not understand Pinterest. I just don't get it. I don't know if I want to get it. Can someone please tell me what they like about Pinterest? Should I figure it out?

3. Google+ is also an enigma to me. Why do I see posts from people that I do not know? 

4. On the contrary, I totally dig a website called ravelry.com where I can find all sorts of knitting and crochet patterns, many of which are free! I recently crocheted a super cute pair of baby converse. See:

The pattern is free and can be found here.

5. Our summer plans are starting to come together. Looks like we'll be taking a two month furlough, spending July and August in beautiful Spokane, Washington. But I don't know how to take a furlough, so if you have any advice I'd love to hear it. I'm pretty sure furloughs include Baskin Robbins mint chocolate chip ice cream, boxes and boxes of Lucky Charms, and plenty of trips to Thai Bamboo.

6. Last time I preached one of my sons asked, "Why do people laugh at you all the time?" Hello? I'm funny. When will my kids finally accept that truth? 

7. Here's my new favorite super-flavorful/super-easy dinner-in-one-pan-but-NOT-a-casserole recipe. I modify it by using boneless, skinless chicken breasts. I bake the green beans and potatoes for 30 minutes while marinating the chicken. Then I add the chicken to the pan for just the last 30 minutes of cooking time. Comes out perfect every time, and it's pretty too!

You can find the recipe here.

8. I really wish you people would pass along some good fiction titles. I love non-fiction as much as anybody, but a girl needs some book candy every now and then. Throw me a bone! I'll give an amazon gift card to the person who recommends a fiction book that WOWs me! Yes, I will BUY you a book if you can just suggest a good one that I haven't read.

9. Anytime someone in our house speaks a three syllable phrase, Chandler sings the phrase to the tune of the Tranformers! theme song. "Where's Gemma?" "Pass the salt." "Don't do that." Are you humming along? The rest of us are avoiding three syllable phrases these days. 

10. David is in the final week of P90X--an intensive exercise regime. He's lost 14 pounds and he is looking GOOOOOOOOOD!

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Am I missing it?

We were curled up together in those last conscious moments before being swallowed by sleep. My mind was replaying the day's events like a montage, a visual examen of sorts. Then, like an uninvited guest, a question snatched me from the edges of dreamland and jarred me awake.

"What if I'm missing it?" I asked aloud, wondering if David would respond.

"Missing what?" he mumbled sleepily.

"Missing whatever God made me for, that thing I'm supposed to do or be? I'm 42 years old and I'm still not sure what I want to be when I grow up. But what if I AM grown up? What if I'm missing it?"

"You're not." he groaned, trying to discern if he needed to rouse himself for an all-nighter or if the simple truth of his response would be enough to encourage his anxious wife to to surrender to Mr. Sandman.

Every so often these existential questions plague me. While I know that God's grand plan does not depend on my participation, I do believe that he invites me to play a part. He invites me into the story and offers me work in his fields. And I want the job!

So I say, "Here am I, Lord! Send me!"

But then life just marches on. I fold laundry, lead a small group, knit a scarf, cook dinner, minister to a friend, walk the dog, mop the floor, preach a sermon, go to market, pick up a prescription, bake cookies, practice French, and after a while I start to wonder, "Did he send me?"

Am I doing the very thing he made me to do, or am I missing it? Is my holy calling nestled in the mess of the mundane? Or am I allowing the minutia of daily life to suffocate my divine purpose?

David prefers for me to avoid such thinking, it interferes with his sleep.

I can't let it go.

"I have this nagging fear that I might be a disappointment to God." I whisper, knowing the silliness of the sentiment, but feeling its burden nonetheless.

He hugs me close, giggling. In his laughter the burden dissipates. "You are not a disappointment to God." His words sound final.

I choose to believe them.

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When did I see you hungry?

After our English Carol Service last weekend, people hung around for fellowship and yuletide yummies. I was enjoying a super satisfying slice of shortbread and stimulating conversation when our pastor pulled me aside and I asked if I had any food prepared at home. Apparently, while English speakers were basking in the afterglow of the candlelight service, a young French girl with a baby had shown up hungry at the back door of the church. The stores were all closed. Christmas cookies wouldn't suffice.

Soak in the poignancy of that moment...I had just preached on the incarnation--God with us--and now I had the opportunity to practice it.

I bundled up, told David where I was running off to, and clip-clopped towards home in my high heeled boots. The boys, who had left church fifteen minutes ahead of me, were already reheating the homemade Chicken Noodle Soup that I had made the day before. Leftovers.

"Is there enough for three?" I asked.

When I told them why I needed a bowl of soup, they were eager to share. We scooped up steaming broth, veggies, chicken and noddles into a Tupperware bowl, and gathered some slices of bread and a few clementine oranges. It was a meager feast, but it was all I had.

And so the young mama ate that night.

We haven't heard from her since. Unlike in Paul Harvey's touching tales, in ministry, we rarely get "the rest of the story." We see the pain, we minister to the need, and we're left wondering if we really helped at all.

While I may never know what happened to the other girl in my story, I know what happened to this girl. This girl (who has never known a hungry day in her life) fed Jesus. In the midst of the celebration of his birth, I got the privilege of welcoming him into my ordinary life.

I pray and pray all through the Advent season that I would have a heart ready to receive him. But how often do I miss him when he comes?

I look for him among the stars, in angel choruses, and in the wrinkled pages of my Bible; I found him in the vulnerability of a hungry young mother.

“For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat...."

“Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you...?"

“...whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me."

Matthew 25: 34-40

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English Carol Service

Last night our church had its 4th Annual Traditional English Carol Service. We were packed to standing room only for this event, which features not only Christmas carols but also scripture reading, candle-lighting, minced pies, and mulled wine. The majority of those who come are not members of our church, so it is a great way to reach out into the community.

As resident English speakers, our family usually has the privilege of participating in the production of this service. Last night David played guitar, Graham played bass, Chandler sang in the choir, I delivered the Gospel. Below you will find the story that I told as means of an introduction to my message. 

In the United States, where I grew up, school children always eat lunch at school. Some bring a sack lunch from home and others buy a hot lunch from the cafeteria, but all the students eat together in a giant lunch room. The only adults present during lunch are angry aids and administrators who had the misfortune of being assigned “lunch duty” and seemed to take their resentment out on the students. Needless to say, school lunches were not much fun for me.

One day, as I was walking with my classmates in a squirming line towards the lunch room, I noticed a stir. Looking up, I saw the source of the commotion.  It was my Dad. My Dad was an important business man who worked in a big office downtown. He wore tailored suits and wing-tipped shoes and he always carried a briefcase. He traveled all over the world and made mind-blowing presentations before brilliant scientists. I had known him to be in three countries in the course of a single week, but I had never seen him in the halls of my elementary school. I was so confused. What was my Dad doing at my school in the middle of the week? Why was he suddenly in my little world?

I broke all protocol, got out of line, and ran to him. He swooped me up in his strong arms, gave me a big kiss, and simply said, “I came to have lunch with you.” 

My Dad stood in the food line right by my side, he pushed his tray right behind mine, and then paid for both of our meals. He followed me to the table, and then somehow folded his enormous body into the tiny chair next to me. His knees were practically touching his ears, but he didn’t seem to care. And then all my friends and classmates gathered around, each one wanting a piece of Mr. Dennis. We regaled him with our tales, showed him all of our tricks, and told him all of secrets. My dad told us stories of his school days, asked us all sorts of questions, and smiled broadly. On the one hand, it was a bit bizarre to have him sitting at my grubby little lunch table, there in my childhood context. In his presence my world suddenly seemed smaller and dirtier. On the other hand, it was comforting to see that he was exactly the same person here as he was at home—gentle, funny, kind, charismatic, upright, respectable, and even in-charge.

That event was a long time ago. But it still moves me. My Dad could have dined at any restaurant in town. But he chose, that day, to come to my world. He chose substandard food, a sticky table, and a bunch of noisy kids. And he delighted to do it.

In a way, my Dad’s trip to my Elementary school is a picture of what God did for us at Christmas. We can easily overlook, as we imagine that helpless baby on the hay, that he, the swaddled one, was the Creator of the Universe. He was the great I Am, the one who parted the Red Sea, the Holy One of Israel. He left his heavenly downtown office for this messy lunchroom that we call earth. Imagine the Eternal God folding himself into the confines of human flesh so that he could dine at our lowly table. So that he could listen to our hearts, look us in the eyes, tell us of his love, and demonstrate his goodness.

That, in a nutshell, is what separates Christianity from every other religion known to man. Every other religion tells us what we need to do to reach God. But Christianity teaches that God reached down to us. The God of the Christian faith is simply the God who showed up.

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A French Wedding

On Saturday, David and I were witnesses in a French wedding. It was a marriage between two church members, both of whom have been previously married and who each have five children.

A civil ceremony is required in France--in fact, it is the only ceremony that matters in the eyes of the law. Conducted by the mayor of the town in a very official manner, the civil ceremony takes place in City Hall.

Witnesses sit on either side of the bride and groom and sign official documents once the vows have been exchanged. Typically, only close family members and witnesses attend the civil ceremony, though other friends and family wait outside to cheer when the newlyweds leave the building.

The entire thing takes about 10 minutes from start to finish. Christian couples will typically have a church ceremony following the civil ceremony--both on the same day. This was the case for our friends.

The civil ceremony was at 10 a.m. and the church ceremony was at 3:30 p.m. As David and I were both participating in the church wedding, we don't have any photos from that yet!

It was the first time we were allowed in to witness a civil ceremony, so it was culturally enriching experience. We were honored to be asked to participate in our friends' special day. 

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The Fungus Among Us

The French love to hunt wild mushrooms. This time of year you find cars parked all along the side of the road where eager scavengers have wandered off into the forests to search for flavorful fungi.

A friend and neighbor recently gave us these beauties from the abundance of his bounty. The first sack was filled with Pieds de Moutons (Sheep's Feet would be the literal translation--not sure what we call these in English) and the second was filled with Chanterelles (which we call chanterelles--they sell for about $18/lb in the US). 

Multiple varieties of mushrooms grow all over the French forests, and even unskilled hunters can try their hand without fear because all pharmacists are trained to identify and classify mushrooms. So happy gatherers simply take their find to the local Pharmacy, and all dangerous or poisonous mushrooms are discarded by the pharmacist, who usually just asks for a portion of the good mushrooms in exchange for his services.

Our friend carefully explained how we were to clean and store the mushrooms and we followed his instructions to the T. 

David plans to use some of the Pieds de Mouton on our pizza tonight--which should add a nice earthy flavor.

Our chanterelles are in the freezer, awaiting their use in quiches or sautéed as an elegant side.

Learning about mushrooms is just one of the things that I LOVE about living in France!

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