Separation Anxiety

While walking home from my bus on Thursday, I passed the Jimenez bakery on Fullerton. I smell the goodies all the time but as I looked in the window, I was mesmerized not only by the scents but of the idea that I could enjoy fresh bread and some wonderful French cheese at home. So I entered and bought a croissant for breakfast and bread for dinner.

How sorely disappointed was I to break my bread only to discover crumbly Mexican cheese and a jalapeno slice filling the inside. “This is what I get for not reading Spanish!” I yelled at the rejected bread as I slumped dejectedly in my chair. My roommates looked on. “I just needed a French moment and they don’t even have jalapenos!!! This is so not what I needed.” Having both grown up for parts of their lives in Germany, they sympathetically looked on and offered stories of the baked goods they can’t find in America.

My unreasonable outburst at otherwise really good bread manifested a larger disturbance occurring this past week. I am experiencing France withdrawal and turmoil. One good thing, one sad thing, one hard thing, and several other things have set this off.

The good thing—I saw pictures of a GBU Weekend de Rentree (“back to school” loosely translated) that was hosted by GBU Compiegne for the GBU North region!!! This was exciting to me for so many reasons. This group is just awesome and God is raising them up to be his people in France and to the ends of the world. It showed as well partnership with the local church I attended in Compiegne, which was a major prayer request and burden on my heart that with a short year’s time I was not able to “do” anything concretely about other than plant bugs in people’s ears and encourage church attendance. And pray. So yet again here God shows up to be faithful to his people and their prayers. I like him quite a bit, really.

The sad thing—One of my French tutors Margarite Chipy passed away this week. I received an email from L’Arche with the information and I was a bit stunned. Madame Chipy was older but spry and would walk and bike everywhere, a wonderful witness too of Jesus and an open door of hospitality. We met for an hour on Friday afternoons January through March to speak in French. In a different post I will detail my favorite story of hers from the World War II era. I will always cherish it and the memory of her.

The hard thing—I was invited to attend GEM France’s annual retreat and church planting training which is occurring this week. While I wanted to go, wisdom said, Be a student and don’t bomb your first semester. I am currently determining if this was truly wisdom. My seminary and France friend Noelle headed out on plane Thursday for the retreat, and as we giggled on the bus ride to Trinity over her inability to stand up straight due to 24 hours of no sleep, and as I prayed for her before we parted ways, my eyes welled with tears. In one of those moments when you think you might lose control of every ounce of yourself, I planted myself with resolve not to cry. I never did cry on Thursday, a minor miracle. I wanted so badly to be getting on the flight too and the restraint I have shown in not tossing studies out the window for this opportunity is, well, if I do say so myself, commendable.

Several other things—If I hear French anywhere in my near vicinity, I truly feel sorry for the speakers…just before I tackle them in a verbal onslaught. Two weeks ago I spoke with a Quebecois couple visiting Oak Park, the suburb where I work. Last weekend, I met a French family at my local Starbucks. This week while waiting for my train from Trinity back to Chicago, I overheard a group of three women and two teens speaking French, so I stood nearby listening for the opportune moment to break in. God in his grace ☺ allowed the train platform to be changed for those going to Chicago. Remembering how difficult it was to catch this information during my first few months in France, I most selflessly began in French letting the group know what had occurred. They were grateful for my kindness, not knowing the great pleasure it gave me of course. We continued to talk until the train arrived…all in French. It was glorious.

We can see then the logical progression toward my bread outburst as my week passed, making me hunger for France, for my people there, for life there, and all else. I miss the Prevotes greatly, I want to hang out with students, and I miss the rhythms of life L’Arche taught me. I love my life now. Seminary is full and challenging and what I expected, both good and interesting. My roommates are great. Chicago is fantastic. God yet again is proving his faithfulness and I am humbled.

But it’s not Compiegne. It’s not Paris. Not Lille. Not France. Not the people woven into me.

I’ve been asking God recently to teach me who I am to be loving intentionally. In a quiet moment, his answer has come and as it has pulled me outward, it has also set me to asking questions.

I am to learn how to love generally, in the way that “for God so loved the world he sent his own son…,” that all encompassing love that hungers for each to know him personally and walk in life in his Body. He has no one particular before me other than people who need to be loved. But he also showed me that he has placed in me a love “for the elect,” akin to what we read in Ephesians 2:4-5, for the French. And I will never be rid of this. My questions then range and are too personal and unformed to be divulged here. But there that is.

Pray for me if you will. Pray for the GBU students. Continue to pray for the Prevotes. Pray for God’s Church in France. Please love them with your prayers.