Today was my last Monday in French class, which I am both sad about and also a little bit relieved, because I am no savant with language. I’m committed to continuing, and I have found ways to learn once I leave Paris, but we have covered what would generally be French 1 and French 2 in eight weeks, and my brain hurts. I also missed an entire week due to two different illnesses, one being Covid, which is also why I’ve been behind on my updates recently. I will finish French on Thursday, and my mom and Aunts come to visit next Wednesday. I have 19 days left in Paris, and I still can’t believe how quickly it all went.
I have spent the last six weeks trying to discern how to move forward, and I still don’t have a definitive answer to that question. However, there were two important events that book-ended this discernment time and that have shaped me as I tried to figure everything out. The first of these was that I was asked to preach at the church here, and I decided to speak on the story of Abram in Genesis 12-15. The obvious thing about this story is that Abram left everything to be obedient and go to a new place, leaving much behind and not really knowing where God was leading him. But what I noticed about this story this time around was that Abram didn’t stop at the first place he landed: he kept going. I preached on other points that Sunday, but the one that resonated with me the most was how Abram would set up camp somewhere, build an altar of remembrance to the Lord, and then go to the next place. He kept moving until he arrived at the place God had called him.
The silly version of our group photo from the church retreat in Normandy last week.
Then, at the end of those six weeks, and after I had finally mostly recovered from a bad cold and then the dreaded Covid, I had the joy of spending four days in Normandy on retreat with the church here. We spent four sessions talking about spiritual gifts, but what was even more impactful for me was actually watching everyone use these gifts throughout the weekend. We ate homemade Lebanese, Iranian, Afghan, American, and French food, made by multiple brilliant home-chefs. My roommate made sure that every space was clean and ready to go for the next day, and attended to details that might have otherwise been overlooked. One of the men in the church faithfully ran the dishwashing after every meal, and at the end of the retreat many people announced how they would like to use their gifts in the future (such as a worship night for members of the Sudanese community in Paris, as well as a women’s group starting up in the future). I had the privilege of watching this church be the church, and at lunch on the final day it was announced that two of the men would be baptized in the coming weeks. I teared up at this, because I had seen how real it all was. This wasn’t manufactured - it wasn’t “church in a box” as we sometimes say in America. The church here is slow, and small, and honest, and real life. I love every bit of it.
Some of the chefs making our Afghan meal, which included the best mint sauce I have ever had.
There have been other impactful moments, of course. But it was these two events in particular that have shaped me in ways I think I might not fully know for months or even years, and I think I can definitively (and easily) say that this is the kind of church I want to be a part of long term. I still don’t know where that will be, but I have a vision now for what I knew, in my gut, was possible. I still remember talking to Samir, the pastor here, back in November of 2020, and coming downstairs to my roommate afterward to tell her that something had ignited in me. After talking to Samir that first time, and especially after being here for a few months, I don’t feel crazy for dreaming my dreams anymore. I will not let people tell me what is or is not possible, or why I should settle down and let someone else do the things I feel called to do. This is what Paris has done in me, and it feels, and has felt this entire time, like holy ground.
The pastor, Samir, and his 19-month-old, Thia. I got to spend a weekend with him and Joanna and their three kids, and they are as awesome as I thought they would be. I will be staying with Joanna’s parents my first night in Beirut, and it’s nice to know I have family all over the world, now.
Which leads me back to that sermon I preached: to keep going. Instead of coming home in December as I had originally planned, I will be flying to Lebanon to visit a dear friend and spend six weeks with an organization in the Beqaa Valley that works to come alongside the refugee community. After that, I will fly to Arizona for a two-week mission training in order to more fully discern where I might land in the future. I will be buying a ticket back to Columbus for mid-February, and while I’m sad to miss Christmas, I know in my gut that I’m not done exploring or discerning quite yet.
I am so deeply grateful for all of your prayers and support, and would continue to take prayers for clarity and vision. I am not putting pressure on myself any longer to know things quickly, as this could take some time to unfold, but by the end of this trip I would like to have at least a fuzzy vision of where I might best live out this dream. I love and miss you all, and can’t wait to see you in a few months!