What a Difference a Year Makes
I wish you could see how different things were this morning as I walked into my French church home in Bordeaux. I could picture myself walking in there in December of 2005, not knowing a soul there and feeling so uncomfortable in my American-ness. It took almost a full year before people finally got to know me, started to invite me to their home for lunch after church, and started to give me a role of my own in the youth group leadership.
This morning I walked in with my colleagues, who have only recently moved in to this area. They don't speak French well and don't know anyone in the church, and I totally identified with their uncertainty--even with their choice of seats, way over against one wall.
This time, however, I knew everyone. The pastor recognized me from the pulpit just before his sermon, causing all eyes to turn to me. I was surrounded after church, not only by the young adults, but even by older adults that warmly welcomed me back into their midst. The young people are putting on the big musical (that I sang in last June) again this next week in a hall across town. I was asked about a dozen times if I could stay for another week and sing with them again as a soloist. During the worship, I sang all the French choruses heartily, having missed the different songs that they sing. The young adults treated me to lunch out at a pizza restaurant, and we had a blast! I laughed at their stories and antics; they peppered me with questions about my next missions project and life in the States.
I felt so welcome, so much like I belonged. I hated to say goodbye again at the end of lunch, but they all said they know we'll meet again. They were confident that, now that I'd returned once, I would find it easier to return again to see them all. I hope so.
This morning I walked in with my colleagues, who have only recently moved in to this area. They don't speak French well and don't know anyone in the church, and I totally identified with their uncertainty--even with their choice of seats, way over against one wall.
This time, however, I knew everyone. The pastor recognized me from the pulpit just before his sermon, causing all eyes to turn to me. I was surrounded after church, not only by the young adults, but even by older adults that warmly welcomed me back into their midst. The young people are putting on the big musical (that I sang in last June) again this next week in a hall across town. I was asked about a dozen times if I could stay for another week and sing with them again as a soloist. During the worship, I sang all the French choruses heartily, having missed the different songs that they sing. The young adults treated me to lunch out at a pizza restaurant, and we had a blast! I laughed at their stories and antics; they peppered me with questions about my next missions project and life in the States.
I felt so welcome, so much like I belonged. I hated to say goodbye again at the end of lunch, but they all said they know we'll meet again. They were confident that, now that I'd returned once, I would find it easier to return again to see them all. I hope so.