I don't write much any more...

 

Don't write much these days.

I hardly have time to breathe.

Elle me manque beaucoup.

I truly do think with my fingers, processing life as I write about what is happening, what I'm mulling over in my mind. 

So much has happened since I last visited this space :

• One has changed jobs, at least twice.
• One has traveled to South Korea, learned to speak the language, and then come back home to us.
• Two have graduated from university... another from high school.
• One has gotten engaged and will be married in a few months.
• One has taken a pause from post secondary studies to work full time.
• One has chosen on-line school to move more rapidly through the program and plans a year of Bible school.
• Two have new drivers' permits.
• One has started her driver's training classes and another should be before too long.
• One has started post-secondary studies and is nailing it.
• Two are coaching basketball.
• One is playing volleyball.
• Two are playing basketball.
• One is now a basketball ref.
• One has given up coloring her hair. Six others are game to try all sorts of interesting colors.
• Two will soon be gaining another "son"-in-love. We need more male hormones around this place.
• Ten (+ one more too), love being together and treasure those times more than ever because they are fewer and farther between than we'd like.
• One has almost forgotten how to type English on an English keyboard because she is so used to typing English on a French keyboard.

• Two have celebrated 28 years together and have been gifted eight amazing kids who are seeking to love God and love people in the best ways they know how and even if it isn't what I imagined it would look like.

No, I didn't even try to do a Twelvish Days of Christmas thing. That would have required too much thinking. 

We are living in our new home. I'm still pinching myself to make sure it isn't a dream. 

After over 30 moves in 28 years, the idea of not moving again is nothing less than lusciously delightful. It actually prompted me to pull out my diplomas and certificates and actually hang them on the wall in my office at school. If you follow me on Facebook or Instagram, you know how breathtakingly lovely our new-to-us space is. The kids have all been betting on when I will stop posting pictures. I hope I never do because this house, this space, is a gift from a gracious God whose good gifts, ones we could never merit, abound. We want to share this gift with others. I like to say, "The door's always open, except when it's not!" so if you are heading our way, let us know and we'll make sure you have the code!

Professionally... in ministry... the past few years have been hard. The pandemic. Forced distance from family. Becoming a principal. Deteriorating "societal" mental health. Multitudes choosing anger and self over civility, kindness and others. Me, myself and I forgetting frequently what it means to choose gentle and grateful, always and regardless of circumstances.

I wasn't looking to become a principal. It wasn't even on my top 100 list of maybe someday I might be interested in possibly trying this. It was nowhere close to even being on the radar. 

I know how to be a special educator and figure out tricks to help kids learn both academic and social skills. 

I know how to be a mom, partnering with my husband to lead a family. 

I've learned (got the scars to prove the learning curve) how to be a missionary, surviving and sometimes thriving in a foreign culture and language and trying to point people towards Jesus while accepting the cost of that choice... for me as well as for those I love. 

Being a principal? I am...

Clueless. Yet intelligent answers are expected.

Confused. Yet that I've figured out the babble in my second language while living in my fifth majorly different culture is automatically assumed.

A casualty of chaos. Never time to stop running. A closed door is simply an invitation to interrupt with a frantic knock. Yet mountains of paperwork must be completed on time. Well-thought, carefully crafted strategy and future plans are required. 

Cuffed, regularly, by capriciousness. Sometimes I think I am appreciated. Occasionally, I even feel welcomed. Yet what others seem mostly to want is a listening followed by doing what they ask without offering my opinion or questioning. Then, when the criticism starts flying, my smiling grateful acceptance is due.

Compromised. In an atmosphere where it only counts as listening when I do what the other wants, yes, respecting my conscience is continuously challenged.

Cross, way too often. Repeated failure and the inability to meet expectations takes an immense toll on this perfectionist pleaser. Yet calm must always be projected. 

I can't say I love what I do. Many days, I can't honestly say I even like what I do.

I don't know how to do this job. I think the current "vogue" term is "imposter's syndrome." 

I am the blind person being told to lead others who are confident of their impeccable 20-20 vision.

I hope, and pray that God is creating something that will honor his name and point to his glory because I am currently, confidently convinced that I cannot.

Maybe, that isn't such a bad place to be.

Pray without ceasing

Inhale, exhale, breathe.

Mon Dieu me soutient.

Emptiness and Well-being

 Do you remember the moment the COVID pandemic became real to you? 

I do.

Juniors and seniors at the school where I work were preparing for their trip to Washington DC. It was Tori's senior year and I had been invited to accompany the group. Tim and I had just returned from a trip to the National Broadcasters Convention (in Nashville) and it was clear that the virus was worrying people. I figured the kids' trip would be canceled... in fact I was hoping it would be. 

It wasn't. We went to DC as planned, swinging through Hershey and Amish country on the way back north, but with the border threatening to close and the strong recommendation for all residents of Canada to return immediately and observe a strict 14 quarantine, the trip was cut short. 

THAT was the moment I realized life as we knew it had changed, at least for the immediate future. A year later, that still appears to be the case.

The day after our return to Quebec City, schools closed, eventually transitioning to online education. Mid-May, primary schools reopened giving families of elementary students the choice of sending their kids back to school following strict health and security protocols or continuing online education from home. 

Test positivity rates, case counts, hospitalizations and mortality decreased and over the summer, life seemed almost... normal. We met outdoors in a park for church and explored the north coast of the St. Lawrence River and Gulf, camping a stone's throw away from Point des Monts Lighthouse. While it was a lovely break, we were, unfortunately, unable to cross the border to see our family in Michigan. 

A new school year started with a whole host of required rules, regulations and protocols to try and protect both staffs and students from the spread of COVID as kids and personnel returned to school, masked and in stable class groups, typically referred to as a "bubble." This, of course, meant limited extracurricular options such as basketball and band. Thankfully, our school experienced only a few confirmed cases of COVID necessitating the involvement of public health authorities. This typically meant a class would switch to distance learning for a two week period, and this happened with Mary's class once. 

Post-secondary education remained mostly online. Once case counts started rapidly rising last fall, the three upper grades (including Jon's class) began alternating days : one day at school with the following one on line, thus reducing the number of older students in the building at a given time. On either side of the Christmas holiday, the entire school had a few days of distance learning, taking advantage of the holiday to create a "quarantine," with the goal of flattening the curve.

In January, an 8 p.m. curfew was instituted. As the one year anniversary of the first confinement approached, the situation seemed to maybe be improving. Certain sections began reopening over Spring Break, curfew was moved back to a bit later in the evening and plans to return the upper secondary to school 100% of the time started being discussed. 

Then cases of COVID variants arrived, first popping up but then snowballing, even as spring was arriving). We had been planning for our the return of our entire student body to in presence learning, at school, for the first time since back in October, after the Easter holiday. Thursday before Easter, the government announce another tightening of health and security measures. Instead of everyone finally at school, everyone would be distance learning, for at least that first week.

That first week has been prolonged on a week by week basis since. As I type, the hope is that May 3, students will return to school, although at the last press conference, the prime minister made it clear that the first priority was the elementary kids. About a month in to this most recent confinement (that is the word used in French), it feels a bit like a reboot of what happened last year. 

And, as I talk with some of my colleagues, that proverbial light at the end of the tunnel, a symbol of hope and the need to persevere just  bit longer, now seems to have transformed into a fantastic, mythological creature that we talk about, but don't really think it exists.

In all reality, I can't personally complain (except for the current impossibility to travel back to Michigan). I am a hermit living in a family of hermits who all enjoy hermit-ing together. My kids miss their friends, but that is part and parcel of  missionary kid's life, so it isn't weird. They are used to maintaining relationships at a distance. In all reality, we are making the most of this treasure of time as as family, time that our busy preCOVID world and culture no longer seemed to prioritize. 

I know, however, that is not the case for many others.  Many are feeling empty, nothing left in the tank to give and still no end in sight. Even the idea of vaccination is tricky, at least as I listen to conversations here because the vaccine doesn't mean the masking, the distancing, the disinfecting, the whole kit and kaboodle... will necessarily stop. Distance teaching when you are responsible to manage the distance learning of your children at the same time is challenging... at best. Participating in planting a church that can only meet "on-line" is uncharted territory. 

I was reading the other morning in 2 Kings 4, the story of the widow who had emptied every possible resource and then realized that the only thing left was to sell her children into slavery. In desperation, she goes to the prophet of Elijah who asks her what remains. Her reply? "A small flask of oil." What he tells her doesn't make sense : "Collect a whole bunch of empty pots and dump that oil into them," which she could then sell to pay her debts and care for her family.

God loves. The Bible is full of stories where He gives worth to what is valueless, frees what is imprisoned, restores what is desolate and abandoned, breathes life to what is barren...

This story touched me because another thing God does is that He longs to fill with abundance what life, what this world, what sin, has emptied. 

Before leaving Niger, I taught through the first part of the book of John to the ladies' group at our church. Just a cursory recall of  that study, I see example after example of this: 

• The wedding in Cana where servants fill empty pots with water, which Jesus changes into wine.
• The Samaritan women came to the well to fill her bucket with water, but left filled with the living Water.
• 5000 plus hungry bellies filled with fish and bread.
• Blind eyes now filled with sight thanks to muddy spittle grace.

And that is just off the top of my head. I could keep on going.

God longs to take what has been emptied and fill it, with himself... 

As an assistant principal at the school, I see lots of official paperwork and a huge concern the Ministry of Education as well as the government is the importance of student and personnel well-being. There is tons of research suggesting that in this present reality, critical factors include :  

• interacting with students and colleagues focusing on authentic care and kindness, 
• prioritizing collaboration and compromise, 
• focusing less on actual academics and more on learning processes, self-discipline and healthy lifestyle choices,
• building a sense of competency and personal responsibility in learning, and
• actually making a difference.

We want to promote well-being.

Yet,

as a follower of Jesus, I know that in this beautifully broken world, trapped in a pandemic and totally emptied by sin,

the only way to truly be well 

is to continually invite God to fill all those empty places.

Language of Love

If you were to visit my house while my crew was sitting around, fiddling on their electronic devices, cleaning, folding laundry or working on homework some Saturday morning, the probability is high that you'd hear them singing a really (and I mean really) silly song called The Language of Love (by Ylvis). When I was a kid, it was Weird Al Yankovich... When my bigs were littles, it was Silly Songs with Larry. 

Today, we've got Ylvis and this song is all about a "puppy love affair", where a man and a seal fall in love and sing to each other. Ridiculous? Yes! But my kids have a blast, laughing and singing all in good fun, especially when someone decides to imitate the seal as she sings her love back to the man.

On a cold, snowy, blowy, white-outy wintry morning when all has been canceled and all have been advised to hunker down and shelter in place,  I've heard the song a few times. Funny thing? The title lines right up with reflections I've had this past week, returning to school... and ministry... after the Christmas holiday.

Many are familiar with Gary Chapman and the five "love languages:

1. words of affirmation, 
2. physical touch, 
3. acts of service, 
4. gifts and 
5. quality time. 

My love language is, without a doubt, words of affirmation. I feel most loved when people gift me words, sincere and quality words. I feel most loved by God when I spend time studying, meditating and drinking in His Word. I most naturally and easily love and minister to others through words, both written and spoken.

At least until the last couple of years. Doing life and ministry in French makes communicating and using words well more challenging, complicated and definitely more exhausting.

There's no doubt about it. I just can't use words nearly so easily or as well. In fact, I am pretty sure I often sound like the "seal singing" part of the above mentioned song. Therefore, since moving to Quebec I've been pushed - more than ever before - to learn new ways to communicate God's love, ones that aren't so "word-heavy," ones such as acts of service, and quality time. 

Unsurprisingly (even though head-in-the-sand-me managed to be surprised) communicating love via those secondary and tertiary for me languages demands an investment, a significant one, of additional effort and time. Words are easy and natural, at least for this introvert. Those other love languages require that I do what comes much less naturally. Even when I do try to fall back on words, my first instinct and characteristic choice, additional time and effort is required.  

And while I can't quantify this type of daily life effort in the same way I can calculate effort using a physics equation, I have ascertained the following:

• Compared to what I experienced while living in the developing world (i.e. my daily life in Niger), much less physical effort is required to "do life" in Quebec... and that's taking into account all the inconveniences that are a part of dealing with lots of cold and snow.
• On the other hand, even though the French language has been an important aspect of of life and ministry in both places, in Quebec, it encompasses the majority of all I do. Most days, I communicate more in French than in English. I can do it, but the mental effort is significant.
• When we first started this adventure 20+ years ago, I had no clue what choosing to live life in a language other than your maternal tongue demands. Today, I have enormous respect those who, whether by choice or necessity, do so.
• My appreciation of those who regularly demonstrate love using one of the other "love languages" is increasing exponentially.
• I'm learning to better recognize and appreciate those gifts of love when they are shared with me.
• I'm thankful that using my less "natural" love languages is deepening my daily dependence on God, because I feel unable, tired and out of my league.
• I'm learning to turn first to God's Word to help me communicate love when I want to use words, as well as to recognize when words just might not be the most effective tool.

Perhaps most significant of all, I'm realizing anew, literally every morning, just how dependent I am on God and his Spirit if I want to demonstrate and share his love - steadfast, sure and new every morning - regardless of the language.

Sous le manguier... or... Under the Shadow of the Mango Tree

I've often been known to remark that I'm not a sentimental mother. 

First day of Anna's last year of high school, August 2017

Don't get me wrong. I love my children, I love being with them more than almost anything else. But I don't long to return to those earlier days of this journey. My heart is too full with the right here and right now. My days are full enjoying life and just being with this gang - as my babies have become little people who have become/are becoming bigger little people who then morph into tweens, teens and finally emerge as young adults. 

I love discovering that I just don't love them because I birthed them and because they are mine.

I really just like them and the people they are becoming.

So this mama-thing, watching these kids grow up and become - more often than not in recent years - has kept me going nonstop, regularly takes my breath away and often leaves me without words (hence the much less frequent posting in this place).

So today, I thought I'd share some of her words, first in French because that's how she first wrote it for a school assignment. She agreed to translate it so that I could share it here. 

I'm proud of this girl. 

Anna giving cross country skiing a try this winter. 

She's always surprising me and it started from day I learned we were expecting her. I'd had a complicated (i.e. requiring a medical procedure) miscarriage just the month before and wasn't planning on another immediate pregnancy. She was the biggest of my babies, always happiest when she had all of her people within easy reach. We almost lost her once (that story is here, if you want to read it), and gratitude that we still get to enjoy her frequently catches me off guard, completely overwhelming me as thankful tears fill my eyes. 

In public, she's introverted and shy, so much so that it amazes me when her clownishness surfaces once we are back at home. She's a planner and she's not afraid to try something that interests her (like the time she made croissants or roped me into a three day bike ride that has us now planning a much longer one as soon as life permits it). 

She's a Senior (or Sec 5) student this year. Academically, she's doing fabulously - taking the most challenging classes and playing varsity basketball - all while working as a cashier and helping in one of the Sunday School classes as church. School has never been simple for her. In addition to her shy introversion (in a system that rewards outgoing and extroverted leadership), she has dysgraphia, which means writing (as well as a few other things) doesn't come easily or naturally. What takes other students 30 minutes can easily take her three times as long. 

I remember times while she was a student at École Alliance in Niger, when she and her classmates were required to copy lesson texts from the blackboard. She struggled to finish the entire text that others had completed in minutes. Her handwriting was usually illegible and her copied text was filled with spelling and orthographic mistakes. Each time she'd look away from the board to the paper, or vice versa, she'd get lost and by the time she refound where she needed to be, she'd have forgotten the sequence of letters she was trying to copy. 

Fortunately, she's always loved to write and God gifted her with a natural perseverance and "sticktoittiveness" that kept discouragement at bay, even in the most difficult seasons. Her hard work and refusal to give up have paid off. Last year, she passed two of her required ministerial exams (in French, mind you) - one with a grade of 98%; the other with a 100% score. As I was leaving the school one afternoon last week, her French teacher poked her head in the room to say that she's never seen someone make such a marked improvement in such a short time. Anna's slightly embarrassed smile at that comment sent my mama heart soaring, and I silently thanked God for this girl and all He's done in her life. 

I could say more, but instead, I'll just share Anna's words ~ 

Sous le manguier

Les samedis matin ou les après-midis après l’école, on sortait dehors pour jouer. Pour échapper au soleil brillant on trouvait refuge à l’ombre des manguiers. Les trois arbres étaient plantés dans une rangée. Notre préféré était le plus grand, car il était le plus proche du tuyau. 

Pendant que nos parents prenaient leur sieste ou que notre mère cuisinait, on construisait des villes entières autour du manguier. Avec la boue, les brindilles et les feuilles, on fabriquait des maisons, des ponts, des magasins, des fermes et des enclos pour nos petits chevaux en plastique. Le tuyau simulait la source d’une rivière qui entourait notre petit paradis. Au centre de la ville se tenait l’arbre. Parfois, il était un château, un gardien ou un lieu sacré. Son rôle changeait toujours. 

Plus loin que les frontières de l’ombre était un désert. Vaste et inhabitable, il représentait un danger constant pour les villageois. Lorsque le tuyau arrêtait de couler, les jouets s’organisaient en une caravane pour traverser les dunes. Sur l’autre côté de l’étendue aride attendait une nouvelle oasis. 

Quand on s’ennuyait de nos jeux imaginaires, on se couchait par terre et le sable, refroidi par l’eau et l’ombre, rafraîchissait nos corps. Parfois on observait les margouillats qui grimpaient sur les murs en ciment de notre maison. Si on était fatigué, on fermait les yeux et l’odeur du manguier remplissait nos narines. Même aujourd’hui, le parfum sucré des mangues me transporte dans un autre monde.

Under the Shadow of the Mango Tree

On Saturday mornings or sunny afternoons after school, we went outside to play. We sought refuge from the scorching sun under the leaves of the mango trees. There were three of them, planted in a row. Our favorite was the biggest, because it was the closest to the hose. 

While our parents rested or our mother cooked, we built entire villages around that mango tree. From mud, twigs and mango leaves we constructed houses, bridges, stores, farms, and corrals for our little plastic horses. The hose was the source of a river that surrounded our haven. In the middle of our town stood the tree. Sometimes it was a castle; other times a sentinel or a peaceful, hallowed place. Its role was always changing. 

Outside the safety of the shadow was a desert. Vast and inhospitable, that desert was a constant, endangering our villagers and their livestock. When the river dried up, our toys formed a caravan. Together, they marched across the endless dunes where a new oasis awaited them on the far side of that wasteland. 

If we got bored of our imaginary games, we stretched out on the ground, demolishing our village. The sand, cool and damp, refreshed our sweaty bodies. Together we’d watch the margouillats that effortlessly scaled the cement walls of our home. If we were tired, we’d close our eyes, relishing the sweet perfume of mangoes that filled our nostrils. 

Even now, the fruity odor transports me back to those days, that time.

I'm Braver speaking French

Does that seem strange to you?

It did to me too, at first.

But it is something I'm noticing to be true, beyond any shadow of a doubt.

Apparently I'm also not the only person who's made this discovery.

What do I mean? Here's one example:

I was in a Tim Hortons parking lot (I often meet English language students there). The spaces are a little on the small side to begin with and once the snow falls and begins to be shoved, shoveled, blown and piled, the available space decreases. I parked my larger than average vehicle, carefully and very clearly in between the yellow lines demarking my space. Yet it was impossible to exit the car without my door touching the door of the vehicle beside me. I was scrupulously attentive - I did not want my black door to leave a trace on the white one beside me. Unbeknownst to me, however, the driver of that white car was watching - also attentively. And he wasn't happy when he saw the contact. He started hollering across the parking lot. It was in French and a good portion of it I did not understand, but there was no doubt about the gist: he was unhappy and he wasn't concerned about politeness. 

Normally I'd just ignore a monsieur like him and simply walk into the restaurant. I'm not one for this sort of confrontation if I can avoid it... But I didn't avoid. 

Instead, I walked up to him and said something along these lines, in French: "Sir, because you are an older gentleman, I'm going to speak to you respectfully. However, your age does not give you the right to impolitely scream at me from across the parking lot. I understand that you were concerned about your vehicle, however I was very careful and if you come with me, you will see there are no marks on your car." He walked over, admitted that there were no marks and then stomped off. (By the way, when we very occasionally cross paths at this same Tim Hortons, he now smiles and says "Bonjour..." for what that's worth.)

Never in a million years would I have done the same thing with a stranger in an English speaking environment. 

Why this difference?

I don't know what the professional consensus is for those who study this phenomenon; the article linked to above says that it probably has more to do with a different cultural context and less with the actual language context. But, for what it is worth, here are what I think might be at least a few of my reasons.

• I learned to speak French as an adult, with more maturity, greater confidence and a better awareness of who I am and why I'm here. Though I do still care (a lot), I am not as enslaved to what others think as I was when younger; I'm significantly more concerned about what God thinks.

• I learned to speak French after becoming a mother. I can't think of any other experience God has gifted me that consistently offers me opportunities to model humility, teachability, perseverance, gentleness and a heart of service - even when all I really want to do is turn off the lights, crawl under the covers (or desk... depends on where I am) and hide from the world.

• Learning to speak another language requires losing face. The controlled, refined and very perfectionist image of me that I want to be and desire to present to the rest of the world usually ends up looking undignified, incompetent and just plain and stupid. 

This year, I'm again volunteering at the school my kids attend and working more in French than I ever have before. I regularly sound like an idiot, am at a complete loss for words, have to ask people to repeat themselves or have to repeat myself, am corrected by giggling five and six year olds, and say things that are culturally stupid because I've translated (more or less) from English 

 Perhaps most discouraging and frustrating of all are those misunderstandings that pop up because my American-English-brained-way of trying to communicate something apparently doesn't come across the same way to a Quebec-French-brained-way of understanding. Helping students learn - a domain in which I've mostly excelled - requires a lot of work in my second language. It is exhausting. Oh yeah, did I also mention that at some point during the day, my head just starts to hurt. A lot.  

Once you get used to regularly eating crow, well... you get used to it and it isn't as hard to do again. However, that doesn't mean it has suddenly become palatable. Distasteful? Probably until the day I die.

** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** **

Now, I don't want to make it sound all miserable. I was sitting at a ladies' breakfast recently - listening and participating in conversations with some precious women from our church (in French of course) - and I was overwhelmed by amazed gratefulness, because there I was, enjoying understanding and speaking a language that was not my mother tongue. 

But I also don't want you to think that just because it has been 17 years, it has become effortless and easy...

And perhaps challenge you to remember that the next time you run across someone who's first language is not English, or who's home culture is not your own.

Five Minute Friday ~ Define

On April 22, Tim and I are scheduled to take a French test - actually four tests: Oral Comprehension, Oral Expression, Written Comprehension and Written Expression. We need to attain a certain level of proficiency if we then want to submit applications for permanent residency.

It seems simple. We studied French for a year. Then we lived and worked in a French speaking environment for 13 years. After a two year hiatus, we moved back to a different French speaking world and are living and working here. We go to the doctor, buy our groceries, pay our taxes, have parent-teacher conferences, go to planning meetings, go to church, teach Sunday School, take classes and do volunteer work - all in French.

Yet, when I started studying this morning and worked through a brief online get-your-feet-wet-and-see-what-the-questions-on-the-test-are-like web page, I realized the oral comprehension part wasn't going to be easy (or they are trying to scare people into paying for the study courses - but that sounds awfully conspiracy theory-ish). Maybe it's because my older than they used to be ears just hear slower these days, or the mild but definite loss of hearing acuity I've experienced the last few years or  just the fact that oral comprehension has always been my weakest French language skill - but now I'm more than a little nervous about this test.

Every other practice section I did, I did really well. Oral comprehension? Not so much.

Being a good student... particularly a good test taker... is one of several things, I realized today, that I've allowed to define me. In the residency paperwork, we specify one spouse (i.e. Tim or myself) as the primary applicant. That person has to score higher than the other - and both Tim and I naturally assumed that person would be me.

Talk about pressure. Turning up the heat. Or mettant les bouchées doubles...

Yeah.

It is crazy how concern over one 25 minute, 29 question test scheduled a few weeks in the future has set my world a-spinning today...

You'd think that at my age, it would take a little more to upset the apple cart! 

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Natalia Medd Round and Round via photopin (license)

Photo 2 credit: 

[-ChristiaN-] carousel via photopin (license)