African Journeys

There are a lot of stereotypes about the French. Some people say they are rude, proud, wear berets all the time, and carry around baguettes. From living in France, I have found that all of those are either exaggerated or culturally misunderstood…except for one. The French love their bread. And, in my opinion, they have reason to. It is incredible. No joke, I could eat a whole baguette with nothing more than water and some cheese for my entire meal.

The French love their baguettes and flutes (a baguette super-sized) so much that they have a word for the soft, white center of a loaf, “la mie”. Bakeries are as common as houses, it feels like. And, if you want to start a very opinionated conversation with a Frenchman, just ask their opinion on the best bakery around. I guarantee they have their personal favorite. Baguettes are bought daily and at least one bakery in the area stays open on Sunday so no one is forced to consume a day old baguette.

So, when you think about the French and all the stereotypes that you hear, just know that most are blown out of proportion, except for their love affair with a fresh baguette.

There are some days here in France that I feel like a genius. I say exactly what I need to, the French understand me completely and I receive an unsolicited smile from the local baker. Those are very encouraging days. But then there are the days where I stumble over my words. The days where even simple French phrases come spilling out of my mouth haphazardly and I quickly receive a correction from the person I am speaking with. These are the days where I am forced to revert back to basic sentences, feeling like a child as I strain to remember simple, daily vocabulary. I am unable to say, “Could you please pass me the bread?’, so I blurt out, “Bread, please?” It is these days where I feel more like a 4 year-old than a linguist.

The most interesting part about all this is that I am sure God places these days in my life on purpose. One reason is because these days, the childlike ones, closely follow the days where I am on top of the world. You see, God knows how quickly I am to congratulate myself and to tell myself how great a job I am doing, as if it wasn’t God who provides the ability to learn language in the first place. So even though these days are tough, I know that God simply wants his child to learn a little humility with his French.

Being a father has taught me quite a bit about God’s relationship with his children. I have begun to understand a little more about how he must love us as our Father. How he can be caring, firm, comforting or disciplinary and still embody love because he shows himself to us different ways at different times for different reasons for our benefit. Well one of those moments of realization came today.

While Jo was at class, I got to watch Ayla. I tried a few things with her: reading books, playing with her stuffed animals, etc, but she became bored with all of them. Then, I thought she might want to walk around. Yes, it began as a ploy to tire her out for her afternoon nap, but after we started walking while holding onto my pinky, she didn’t want to let go. So we made a lap around the living room, then the kitchen, then the hallway a couple times. I think in all, we walked around our apartment 6 or so times. She was loving holding onto a solitary finger as we made lap after lap. I thoroughly enjoyed every second of our time, taking a half-step for every 3 of hers. Walking is a new thing for her. She doesn’t run yet, or at least when she tries, she falls over. Each step is deliberate, uncoordinated and awkward, but she never tired of walking knowing she was holding her daddy’s finger.

Now I could take the analogy of God’s relationship with his children in a couple different directions here, but this is the one that struck me. God is willing to walk with us. And though we are clumsy at times and need to hold his hand, he is patient and willing. He wants to walk with us. In I John 3:1, Christians are called ‘children of God’ and part of being his children is being taught, growing, relying on him, etc. And he has patience far outlasting that of any earthly father.

A few nights ago, we went to the house of some of our french friends for dinner. They have a little girl around the same age as Ayla, so whenever we get together we have a lot of fun with each other, and watching our girls play together is so cute. We spent a great evening eating wonderful food, and having a surprisingly easy time conversing in French with them, both of us. We got home a little later than we thought we would, so we went to bed not long after we put Ayla to bed. Nate and I talked about how much fun we’d had laughing and hanging out with them, then we both went to sleep. I spent a very restless night of lively dreams, reliving our evening with our friends. I was dreaming in French, and it was EXHAUSTING! I kept waking up thinking, “This is so hard, it’s making me more tired than ever cause I have to concentrate so hard to understand what’s going on! Dream in English, Jo! English!”

I’ve heard that dreaming in whatever language you’re learning is a good sign, and I agree. This is not the first time I’ve done it in my French career. But man is it exhausting!