Day Sixty: Last day at la Schola

no more translations, no more classes, no more paper.

done done done. shocked & in disbelief.

I'm really going to miss the routine of things.

Breakfast in the morning with the cool kids in Didot. Chuckling over morsels of fresh baguettes and tea every morning with a dollop of strawberry jam.

Waving good-bye to the lady at the front desk and a "bonne journée" to the janitor before pushing the button to exit the foyer.

Opening the squeaky hinge gate to the park next door and chatting for a few minutes with the little grandma who sits on the bench writing poems every morning...always so poised and put together with her manicured hands and bright red lipstick. Today she asked me about the DSK affair. Oy. hahaha.

Sticking my iPod in and humming along to some praise songs as I meander through the cobblestone streets and find my way to the Aleysia metro stop.

Picking up a copy of the "Direct Matin" and flipping through it as I sit in the metro.

Waving good-morning to my favorite "Turkish grandpa" who's busy prepping his kebab restaurant for the day.

Sitting at the desk translating documents and being a secretary, unless it's Wednesday when I get to hang out with the kiddies all day. My favorite. :)

Going to lunch at my favorite places: the "baby-foot" (foosball) cafe where I would get my panini or "house burger", take-out pasta place with the sweet Chinese lady, or grabbing a baguette and sitting in the park by the fountain

Packing up when the clock hits six and stopping by the Kebab place to chat with the Turkish grandpa who would always pour me a fresh glass of orange juice as we talk about our day. Sometimes we just talk about "surface stuff" while other days he gives me his take on technology and youth these days. Sometimes I jump in, but normally I just listen. And then it's an au revoir!

..but this time, it's really happening. Au revoir, la Schola Cantorum. You've been so good to me.

Eyes Wide Open

"Ah, je suis désolée mais il faut ouvrir les yeux..."

"Ah I'm sorry, but you have to open your eyes..."

Confused, I stopped mid-prayer and looked up to catch the reassuring glances of my three sisters around me. I knew about the policy of laïcité (separation of state and religion) in France but only saw its real impact when a Muslim woman recently made headlines for wearing a voile in public. I didn't realize that it would intrude upon my prayer life. I didn't know that I've been illegally praying in public for the past five months here. So there I was, sitting in a hotel lobby with three other ladies from Hillsong, praying with my eyes open in what was to be an experience that I will never forget. Despite this troubling news, I left the hotel hopeful for my first day at the halte with sisters that I just met that morning.

As we turned the corner, we saw the sun shine brilliantly upon what looked like a children's day-care center. Aesthetically and functionally, that's what it was, but there were no children running around here other than a young baby being nursed by her mother.

During the day, the building houses women who would otherwise have nowhere else to go. Even before we entered, we came across one woman washing her hair outside with a hose. She turned at the sound of our footsteps, and I immediately noticed a bloody gash on her nose. I would soon find out that she got into a fight with another woman on the streets the night before.

We went inside to find a diverse group of women sitting around the television as two workers in the kitchen began to clear the table of breakfast foods. They greeted us with enthusiasm before we immediately got to work setting up chairs and organizing our manicure sets on the tables.

Today was my first day going to the "halte des femmes", the French equivalent of a woman's shelter. The women come from all kinds of situations--victims of domestic violence, single mothers without homes, runaways, immigrants, women experiencing life on the streets for the very first time, etc.

Public evangelization is strictly banned in France, but we can share our testimonies if they ask. As we massaged their hands and painted their nails, they asked where we came from and would ceaselessly thank us. Massaging the hand of one woman who came from Sri Lanka, I began to silently pray for her. What a difference it makes to know the person whom you are praying for! Hearing her story gave me a greater urgency to pray. Relational ministry. She taught me a few phrases in Tamil and chuckled at my unsuccessful attempts. Next to me a young girl from Cameroon beamed when I recalled a few phrases of English Pidgin from last summer.

Oh man, this is why I love languages. Even if it's just a few phrases, it's a way of saying "Look, you're so cool and I want to be like you! Yes, I probably sound silly, but I want make the effort to know you on your turf!" Learning another language is the most humbling process ever, but I think of my Father who not only took upon the language but wholly transformed Himself to walk with me. Jesus, your incarnation continues to be my motivation.

One by one, we painted their nails and massaged their hands. I could tell that many of the women were not used to the gentle touch of a friend and saw the joy spread across their faces.

I may not have had loaves of bread or fish at my disposal, but I praised God this afternoon for giving me hands with years of manicure experience.

So Daddy, multiply multiply!

Thank you for opening my eyes today.

Good Ears

One afternoon not too long ago, I was on the metro reading a passage in Matthew. It was about Jesus feeding the five thousand. It was a passage that I've read many times before. The disciples see a crowd coming and panic because there's nothing visibly sufficient enough to feed them. Jesus does what is humanly impossible and astounds everyone with a bountiful feast.

Every time I read this miraculous act of God, I was always reassured of His mighty provision in my life.

This time around, I heard my complaints in the disciple's voice. You see, a few minutes before, I just barely made it through the sliding metro doors. My mind travelled back to the homeless man propped against the station wall silently staring at the paper cup placed before him. The first few weeks in Paris, I would drop in some change here and there, but after a while the homeless became just a part of the city setting and I frankly stopped noticing them in the rush of the morning commute. Although I would occasionally pray for them in my head as I passed by, it was evident that I've grown numb to their needs.

As evening approached, the disciples came to him and said, “This is a remote place, and it’s already getting late. Send the crowds away, so they can go to the villages and buy themselves some food.” Jesus replied, “They do not need to go away. You give them something to eat.” -Matt. 14: 16-1

You give them something to eat. God has given me enough already to help others. He has given me more than enough bread to share, yet I find that I tend to automatically send them to His care... not in faith for bigger things but in laziness. There is nothing wrong with asking God to heal the brokenness of my neighbors, but I realized that often my own motives are broken. So I asked God in the metro that day, Daddy, what could I do? What do you want to do through me? I don't think it's really safe to just sit and talk to them alone, but I want an opportunity to serve them. Daddy, show me a way.

Fast forward to Sunday: the Hillsong citycare team announces several ministry opportunities in the city. One involves going to a woman's shelter and painting their nails on Saturday mornings.

My ears perk up. Excited, I sign up. I attend a meeting held at a young couple's home one night.

After several email exchanges, I'm scheduled to go on Saturday May 7th.

Daddy, you have good ears.

You hear my whisper in a crowded metro.

You are itching to grant my deepest wishes.

Daddy, you answer prayers.

Relief

In regards to the news that made headlines across the pond today...

‎"I mourn the loss of thousands of precious lives, but I will not rejoice in the death of one, not even an enemy. Returning hate for hate multiplies hate, adding deeper darkness to a night already devoid of stars. Darkness cannot drive out darkness: only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate: only love can do that." -Martin Luther King, Jr.

It's hard to believe that I was introduced to the name Bin Laden almost ten years ago. The media taught us to hate him, fear him, disdain him, what have you, for nearly half of my life. Perhaps rightly so because his acts were abominable and certainly condemnable. As a child, I felt queasy at the thought of a man who may have been celebrating on the other side of the world when people were forced to jump to their deaths, valiant firemen were trapped in the smoking rubble, and the rest of the world was shrouded by the cloud of darkness that followed the toppling of the twin towers. I remember 9/11 so clearly and so did everyone else who recounted the horrors so vividly at breakfast this morning. I still recall finding my mom and brother waiting for me in the tiny elementary school gym that afternoon when I usually walked home. And it still strikes me as strange to see that day printed in school textbooks...is this fresh memory of mine already becoming a part of the yellowing pages of old history books?

And today the news of his death. I stared at the headlines and had a flashback of 9/11.

I celebrate justice. We humans were meant to crave justice and I saw that so clearly when following the news today. At the same time, the rowdy hoorahs are not going to change what has already happened. So is all the pomp really necessary? Something about these overdone celebrations irk me...there's something deep in the pit of my stomach, and I feel queasy again. Yes, that queasy feeling I got ten years ago when a man across the globe may have been celebrating the violent end of many others.

"Do not rejoice when your enemy falls, and let not your heart be glad when he stumbles, lest the Lord see it and be displeased, and turn away his anger from him." -Proverbs 24:17-18

Though I find it hard to pump my fist into the air and shout our nation's anthem today, I mainly find myself relieved--relieved to know a God who stands for justice but who is equally brimming with mercy and grace.

Today's events definitely shed greater light on my Father today and I am thankful for that. Because while we humans trample on and celebrate the death of an enemy, I serve a God who would die for His.

That enemy once being me.

And with that being said, I am at a loss for words.