To paint a quick picture of the man I will simply say he is 5 feet tall, 60 years old with the energy of a 20 something and embodies the  stereotype Americans have of a Frenchman (minus the beret but including the red sweater over the shoulders). The last necessary detail is that he is very protective of the grass.

So as I was saying, I cut across the grass to save time and there, standing at the door, was none other than Jean-Charles. I can honestly say that I have never received such a thorough French reprimand for walking on grass. The most memorable moment was when he repeated the word ‘never’ over and over again. (As in ‘Never, never walk on the grass!!!’) You would think a man (myself) twice his size would cause him to tread a little more lightly with his words, but alas Jean-Charles is fearless as well an avid protector of helpless herbage.

First, they call chewing gum “shwing-um”, at least that’s how they pronounce it. That’s just one of the many words they are borrowing from English. Others include “le week-end”, “indoor”, and “scotch” (for any type of tape). And any time you find English on clothes or postcards here, it never quite makes sense. Once, on his birthday, Nate found a card that said, in English, “Happy Freshy Birthday!”

Second, we recently learned that there are over 1,200 accidents per year caused by dog poop left on sidewalks, roads, bike paths, anywhere. People slip, break bones, wreck their bikes, all sorts of things. See, the majority of the French population of dog-owners don’t think it’s necessary to pick up after their dogs. And that doesn’t mean they leave the “kaka” in the grass. No, it’s all over the place – usually right where you want to walk or push your stroller. Convenient, huh?

Third, we learned last night during a dinner in a new French friend’s home that it’s not abnormal to spend 30-40 euros every week on cheese. They eat cheese like Americans eat, well, there’s not a good comparison to be drawn here. They asked, “Don’t you have cheese in America?” We said “Yes, but not like here. Cheese is never in a course by itself. It’s in other dishes, but rarely by itself, unless it’s a European-themed meal.” They love multi-course meals. The first is an appetizer, which could consist of only olives, or something much more elaborate and filling. Then, it’s the main dish. Next is the salad course, then the cheese course, then the dessert. We arrived at around 6:45 last night and left after 10. And we were sitting at the table, eating, 97% of that time. But man, were those cheeses good!

They don’t eat eggs for breakfast, ever! One of my close friends here said “You NEVER eat eggs for breakfast. That’s only for lunch, in a quiche or omelette.” For a typical French breakfast, you usually find coffee or tea served with a pastry (chocolate croissant, fruit tart, or other such “dessert-type” goody), but never biscuits, eggs, bacon, grits, the works. Oh, and they eat cereal too. But again, most of the cereal you find on the shelves here contains chocolate. And that’s not an exaggeration. They love their chocolate in the morning!

Ayla has been wearing long-sleeve shirts and I have put on my jeans and lumberjack shirt. It is kind of weird because our summer lasted all of a month and a half. But maybe God is giving us something that resembles fall before we experience the African summer.

We are also starting to pack some things up and get everything lined up here in France to leave. God has provided another family from our organization to take over our apartment. This is huge because now we don’t have to sell all of our furniture. We are simply able to pass it along.  As we get closer to our departure date, we are in need of some very specific prayers.

1. If you could pray for wisdom and direction as to our final destination in Cameroon and a clear leading as to which people group to work with
2. For all the preparations we are making with plane tickets, visas, shipping our stuff, etc.
3. For a strong finish in French language learning.

Thanks everyone.

The single-engine plane circled and landed in a remote village in Southeast Asia. As translators Andrew and Anne stepped out, they were immediately surrounded by several hundred Ketengban men and women—all dressed in full celebratory dress with feathered headdresses, and even some with bones in their noses, and plugs in their earlobes. Brandishing bows and arrows, hooting, chanting and dancing, they swirled in and around Andrew and Anne, honoring them by draping net bags around their necks.

Andrew and Anne were caught completely off-guard. Even though they were responsible for the Ketengban translation project and this was Anne’s first visit since the New Testament dedication 11 years earlier, they hadn’t expected such an exuberant welcome. They were further baffled when they noticed that not everyone was celebrating.

Off to the edge of the crowd stood a somber group of about eight young men. Like everyone else, they were dressed in full traditional regalia, but they were also covered in white mud from head to toe. They stood expressionless and silent, never moving, never joining in the celebration.

The elders explained:  “Today we celebrate your return, Andrew and Anne, you who brought God’s words to us in our own language. But we don’t want to forget what life was like before we had the Word, so we asked these young men to cover themselves with mud and to stand apart, silent and somber. They represent the lives of all of us before we understood God’s words to us. We were like dead men walking. We didn’t know God or His Son. We lived in guilt and fear and constant warfare, always under the power of the evil spirits, who terrified us and caused us to fear one another as well.

“Now we are alive in Christ and free from our dark past. We are insiders, part of God’s family—no longer outsiders silently watching from afar. But our children don’t remember what it was like to be outsiders and walk as dead men, because they were born after the coming of God’s words. We want them to understand our past so they will fully value what they have with Jesus and will always give thanks to God. We older people don’t want to forget how much God has changed us either!”

They haven’t forgotten, and they haven’t kept the good news to themselves. They’ve reached out to half a dozen neighboring language groups—bringing people to Christ and planting churches. They’ve also committed themselves to getting more of the Word into their own language. The New Testament, dedicated in 1998, was not enough for them. Two teams of passionate, highly motivated mother tongue translators are working on a shortened version (45%) of the Old Testament, with the careful guidance of Andrew, who now works as a translation consultant.

The Ketengban have it right:  Against a background of darkness, light shines more brightly. If you don’t have your own memories of the darkness and fear outside of God’s family, I’d encourage you to tuck away the Ketengbans’ story for those occasions when you need a fresh appreciation for all that God has done.

Hope everyone enjoyed the pics. Quick prayer request, we are starting to look into our visas for heading to Africa. Please pray for a smooth go at the whole process. Thanks to all who read our ramblings.

Also, we plan on becoming experts at navigating the twisty and turny Italian roads, taking to heart the advice my French friend gave me about Italian drivers being crazy. Luckily I have witnessed a primo exposition of narrow-road driving by my friend Matt in Ireland. I only hope I can navigate Italy with such grace and poise.

Now we knew we wouldn’t be able to fit all our groceries into our handlebar-mounted baskets, so I sported a hiking backpack and we took off. Sidenote: Ayla loves riding in her bikeseat. Grocery shopping went smoothly as normal, but the packing up to leave was the most interesting part. All told, by backpack was brimming, as were the two baskets on our bikes and a pack of disposable diapers was hanging from my handlebars. But it was manageable. The only question mark was a pack of eggs placed on the top of Jo’s basket.

So we took off, quickly realizing that bumps in the road were our biggest enemies. And, soon enough, one of those enemies claimed some victims. The casualties: 5 eggs. It was hard to handle, but we know that their scattered remains on the bike path will serve as a monument to their sacrifice and as a warning to all other travelers going to and form the market.

There are countless stories from the weekend, but the best parts were the times where we were able to talk, laugh and pretty much have the closest thing to true Christian fellowship I can imagine. One of our conversations led us to discuss the celebration that we should be living in daily due to the death of Jesus Christ on the cross. By the end of his time here, I felt greatly encouraged and ready to buckle back down for a new month of classes.