Pressed but not Crushed

Pressed, but not Crushed

In the past, in every learning environment I have been in, I have found myself near the top of the class. Call it luck, call it good genes, call me an over-achiever, or give me more credit than I deserve and call it perseverance, if you wish. For whatever reasons, in elementary school, middle school and high school, I got A’s and maybe a couple of B-pluses. In academics, I never really struggled to catch onto things.  Then came my freshman year of college. Fall semester, among other classes, I took Calculus 1 and Chemistry 101. I got an A in Calculus and a C+ in Chemistry!!  I had never received less than a B in my entire life! I was freaked out. I was devastated. I vowed to get an A in Chemistry the next semester. So, being a motivated over-achiever, I dug in and studied chemistry like crazy. Lo and behold, I got an A in Chemistry the second semester. However, in the meantime, I became completely confused in Calculus. My Calc. grade for second semester was…drum roll please…a C+. I just didn’t “get it”. For the first time in my life I found myself fighting to understand things and asking other students for help. I was used to being at the top and this was very humbling for me.  I was used to being the helper not the “helpee”.

To make a long story short, that was the last math class I ever took. I went on to enjoy myself more and get better grades in other subjects like biology, psychology, and literature. However, I still have nightmares of sweating my way through Calculus tests.

Fast-forward about 30 years. I am sitting in a classroom. I have the urge to cry. More than that, I want to walk out of the room. My head literally hurts from straining to comprehend the subject that is being taught. Only this time it isn’t really a problem of understanding “concepts”. Instead, it’s as if everything is in another language. Oh, wait…everything IS in another language!

Three hours a day, five days a week, you will find my butt parked in a chair at a language school, where I am trying (and hopefully learning) to speak and write and understand the French language. The last time I “officially” took a French class, Jimmy Carter was still President of the United States and John Lennon was still alive. But somehow, maybe due to some freak happenstance or odd alignment of the planets, I apparently managed to get a decent score on my entry exam and I have been placed in a class with students who seem far above my level of proficiency. In this room, for 15 hours a week, the English language is verboten. Oh…wait a minute, that’s German. What I mean is, there is NO ENGLISH allowed in the classroom. So, the teacher gives all the instructions in French. The students all converse in French. The answers must be given in French. Questions must be asked in French. Words fly by me like leaves off the trees on a blustery fall day. I catch a few of them but most of them fall around me indecipherable to my untrained ear. If I let my mind wander for even a moment, my train of thought will be completely derailed and I feel like I’m back in Calculus 2. Instead of integrals, asymptotes, differential equations and logarithms, there are definite and indefinite articles, direct and indirect objects, adjectives, adverbs, masculine and feminine nouns, personal pronouns, regular and irregular verbs, indicative, subjunctive and imperative moods, etc., etc. In English, these things are not a mystery to me, but put them in French, and as the French would say, “Oh, la, la”.
(SIDE NOTE: As Americans, we think the phrase “Oh la, la.” has some sort of sensual connotation, but in reality it is more like saying “Uffda!” in Norwegian or “Oy Veh!” in Yiddish, or basically, “OHHHHH NOOOOO!”)

Somehow, by studying a lot, I have managed to do pretty well on the written exams in my class. However, if I go to the grocery store, I cannot understand the clerk. If I go to the outdoor market, I am baffled by what the venders say to me. It’s comical, really. As soon as I look confused, they generally ask me if I speak German, because of our proximity to the border with Germany, I assume. When I say I speak English, they do one of two things: 1) They happily switch to English immediately, which is a drag for me because then I don’t get to practice my French, or 2) They shake their heads and seemingly begin speaking even faster in French, which is also a drag for me because if I couldn’t understand them before, how can I understand them at warp speed?

We have only been here for a little over a month, and I know that my French is getting better, but still it is disheartening. I wish it would just be easier. It’s hard feeling “out of it” a lot of the time. It’s tiring to go to the store or the bank or the post office and try to communicate in a foreign language. It’s embarrassing to not know what the person on the tram just said to me. It’s difficult to sit in class for three hours a day, trying to catch all those words blowing by me, and also attempt to put a few intelligible sentences together. It is humbling (maybe even humiliating) to feel, in a word, “stupid”.

Did God drag me halfway across the world just so I could feel stupid? I don’t think so. I hope not. But maybe He brought me some 5,000 miles to help me gain compassion for those who struggle to learn. Perhaps He did it to so I could appreciate the complexities of another language and culture. Maybe He did it to teach me to rely on Him and not my own abilities or to learn perseverance and develop my character. Most likely, it’s for all of those reasons, and a whole lot more.

I’m looking forward to understanding more of what is going on around me, and to feeling more comfortable in this new place. I’m even looking forward to learning a few more verb tenses so I can quit talking like a caveman. :-)

In the meantime, I take comfort in these words from the Apostle Paul:

“We are hard-pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair, persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed…”

(2 Corinthians 4:8-9)

“Nous sommes pressés de toutes parts, mais non écrasés; inquiets mais non désespérés; pérsecutés mais non abandonnés; abattus, mais non anéantis…”
(2 Corinthiens 4.8-9)

Where Everybody Knows Your Name

A couple weeks ago my life changed radically. It wasn’t a tragedy or an unforeseen event that caused the change, but rather, a decision made by my husband and me to move to Strasbourg, in the Alsace region of France. Having spent the past 14 years living in a three-bedroom, three-bath home on the shores of a quiet lake in northern Minnesota, we knew there would be difficult adjustments in making the shift to apartment living in an urban area with half a million people.  Surprisingly, getting used to city life hasn’t been all that difficult. A lot of that is due to the fact that Strasbourg, and the entire region of Alsace is such a fantastic place to live.

The city is filled with rich history and it’s wonderfully simple to travel through it by foot, on bicycle or via public transport. Sauntering through its twisting, cobbled streets is like stepping onto a Disney movie set. Canals encircle the city and the spire of its famous Romanesque/Gothic Cathedral rises 466 feet above the city’s center. There are boulangeries, chocolatiers, and cafes on every block. Culinary delights are everywhere!! If you feel like going to a concert, you are sure to find one. If you want to shop, there are many places to choose from. Want to take a walk in a park? There are beautiful green spaces to stroll through.  So, as we would say in the U.S., this is “not a bad gig”! In fact, it is fabulous.

When we decided we would be moving overseas, we began the long process of “down-sizing”. I had begun reading a blog called “Becoming Minimalist” by Joshua Becker many months before, and was inspired and intrigued by the idea of simplifying and getting rid of unnecessary “stuff”. The whole idea of minimalism is that by owning less, we live fuller lives.  At the time I began reading that blog, I had no idea that I would be moving overseas and, out of necessity, would become a minimalist myself. In 9 months time, we got rid of most of our belongings. We threw away copious amounts of stuff, sold some things, and gave away others. Most of these were things that we didn’t really need or care about, but in the process we also parted with some things that were special to us, but were too large to fit in our suitcases (like our golden retriever) or store at my mother-in-law’s house.  We arrived in Strasbourg with 3 suitcases each, plus my guitar. Right now, all my clothing fits in one-and-a-half drawers, plus one meter of hanging space. (I confess I have a couple drawers of clothes back in the States so that when I return for a visit, I have something to wear.) Gone are the shoes I never wore. Gone are the clothes that no longer fit me. Gone is the home décor that I could never find a spot for. Gone are the old magazines that I was going to go through. Gone are the Christmas decorations that didn’t really help me celebrate His birth anyway. Basically, gone is the excess. Gone is the clutter. 

I think I’m going to like this lifestyle. So far, living with less has been like a breath of fresh air.  Our apartment is furnished and the kitchen is well equipped. We have everything we need.  I never thought of myself as a materialistic person before, but when the call came to get rid of it all, I discovered that I was a bit more attached to my “things” than I realized. Having said that, however, I can honestly say that I don’t miss any of that material stuff now.

The things I miss aren’t really “things” at all. I miss my friends and my family and some things that more intangible. Like mist rising off the lake on a cool morning. Or complete silence when I step outside. Bright stars in a black sky. Knowing how to read the labels on my food. Wearing yoga pants and a hoodie to the store. Chatting with everyone in line at the grocery store or bank. Running into people I know everywhere I go. Knowing everyone’s phone numbers and birthdates by heart (I don’t even know my own phone number here). Making a joke with a pop cultural reference and knowing that people will get it. Friends who love me, faults and all, and a few who even claim to love me because of those faults. Basically, I guess I miss the sense of familiarity with everything around me. Fourteen years in one place will do that for you.  It’s that feeling of belonging.  Of being understood and understanding the people around you. Kinda like that old theme song from Cheers that says, “Sometimes you wanna go where everybody knows your name.”

But here’s the thing: that kind of feeling and sense of belonging takes time. It takes a little effort too. Feeling awkward for a little while isn’t going to ruin my life.  But ignoring the call of God just might. So here I am. I’m grateful for the friends we have already made here who have been amazingly gracious and generous in trying to help us adjust and get settled into our new home. I am so thankful for this opportunity to experience something new in my life. It is going to be an adventure unlike any we have had before! Someday, I am confident that this will become that familiar place “where everybody knows my name”. 

I’m hoping to use this blog to write of my experiences here in France and the ways in which God

will use this time to shape my attitudes, my life, and my faith journey.