Last night I wrote this, but the internet wasn’t cooperating—
The past week, I was working with Thierry and living with his family. This was a great way to ease into being in France, they made me feel so welcome in their home. I had my own room, set of towels, and every morning for coffee used a faded “FBC Reading mug.” At mealtimes they always translated for me what they were laughing about, and Valerie is a great cook so I was fed delicious food every day. The menu included: roasted vegetables, homemade bread and on one occasion a delicious fruit tiramisu—mom, research this. While living with them I was able to help by watching their 8 month old son Silas, a smily happy baby. When I went to pick him up from his crib today, he smiled at me—probably recognizing me as “that girl who fed me once and makes funny sounds.” He is one reason I was sad to leave them today.
Another reason is that I’ve finally learned my way around their kitchen, and this morning I spent a few hours just sitting and talking with Thierry and Valerie while I slowly munched on breakfast bread. And today at lunch, my last meal at their house, Thierry told me Silas had his first piece of bread yesterday, I jokingly asked if it was a grand occasion for every French citizen, and Thierry and Valerie laughed, “yes” they said, “like an American’s first donut!” touché.
The Mirones are a great family because they are dedicated to reaching people for Christ. I liked living in their home because I could see how they daily juggle family and missions work. I learned that when balancing the two, a constant desire to serve God and serve family has to be reached, without one overtaking the other for very long. Both of these callings—to missions work and family—need to be met with love and concern for honoring God with the whole of a persons life. This is one of the lessons I take from living and talking and laughing with the Mirones.
Today, after picking up Monica at the airport, I started in my first stint living with a French family, the Lorcerys. I’ve only been here a few hours, but I can already tell that there will be much less translating, and much more trying to remember the French I learned my Freshman year. There are three girls, and one is coming back with me to America to be an intern at my church. We met over the weekend, so we got the initial “I don’t know you, but I know I need to get to know you so let’s just smile at eachother” awkwardness all over, phweph. So today we spent a few hours chatting as we ate ice cream and then made dinner together.
When she asked me if I would like pizza for dinner, I said yes—but I was slightly disappointed. Don’t get me wrong, I love pizza, but it’s a standard meal in every American household, and not very French in my mind. Besides, my friends the Todds make the best homemade pizza on the planet, and really—everything else pales in comparison.
But as we chopped up three zucchinis, a carton of mushrooms, four tomatoes, and a giant green pepper—I realized this was no standard American pizza. Marie then lined a large pastry tin with wax paper, and proceeded to throw all the vegetables into the pastry and cover it with small pieces of ham and cheese. Then it went into the oven for about fifteen minuets, and poof—Pizza! My disappointment was unnecessary, it was an true French experience, and really delicious.
Now—I write this sitting in the Lorcery’s kitchen. I have yet to exactly pin it down, but I think a kitchen, more than any other room, can describe a family the best. So I will try to describe their kitchen.
First, some background on the house—it was converted from a carpentry (or ‘place where they used to cut wood’) barn into a beautiful modern home with lots of exposed wood. The father (I forget his name) is an architect and the mother (Natalie) an artist—and they built the house themselves. Last night Natalie told me that they used to live in a old house in the neighboring village that was dark and right next to the road. They didn’t like it, so they looked for something else and prayed over a new home and then this property became available.
The coolest thing about their house is that it’s entirely open. The kitchen is in the center, and giant wooden stairs at one end lead to the open second floor with a desk, television, and couch. The bedrooms are off of the second floor, and the attic (where I’m sleeping, don’t worry, there’s a window!) is in the middle of the landing where the three girls have their bedrooms. So the kitchen is the focal point of the whole house, architecturally and literally. I home I’m not breaking any unspoken cultural rules by sitting at the island and typing away, but the Wi-Fi works the best here.
So, the Kitchen—The giant island with stools is bright lime green. The kitchen drawers are bright orange and the refrigerator/oven/espresso maker in the wall (whaat??? Yes. You read that sentence correctly) is gray. There is a giant wooden cutting board, a touch-screen stove top, and just cool kitchen accessories lying around. The coolest of which is an orchid.
This morning I talked with Natalie while she made me toast and taught me how to use the espresso maker, and then I helped her with some housework. I truly believe God’s giving me the courage I need to converse with the little French I know. Natalie speaks very good English, and Marie is learning quickly, but the rest of the family speaks little to none.
I read this morning from Philippians about being in chains for Christ, and how Paul surrendered his entire life for Christ’s gain. For him to live or die is a little issue, but working for God’s glory matters greatly. I’m holding onto this today and treasuring these words.
Prayers for continued courage and reliance on God are much appreciated!
