Paris: The Worst Trip of my Life

So it's been a few weeks since we eagerly returned home to Kandern from an adventure in Paris. 

And it's taken me this long to decompress and debrief...to make some sense out of it. 

To find redemption.

Okay, yes, I'm being a little dramatic and I realize I sound like an absolute brat complaining about a trip to Paris. I can feel the judgment.  For the record, I know that not having a fun trip to Paris is not a big problem. It's not really a problem at all, but it did teach me a few things that I feel 

compelled to share.

What do you imagine when you think of Paris? I anticipated romance, dressing like Audrey Hepburn, charming patisseries, music from my 'Paris after Dark' CD playing on every street corner, and of course, a view of the Eiffel tower from our hotel room. I went into our Paris trip with high expectations. Visions of sketching in the Tuileries, walking hand and hand alone the Seine, and eating crepes in the park under the Eiffel Tower enticed me.

And in fact, these weren't just visions. My life briefly turned into a movie for 5 days the summer after I graduated from high school when Betsy, my MWAITWWW (my most wonderful aunt in the whole wide world), took me to Paris for my 18th birthday. (Michelle, Kathy, Bonnie, Bet, you are all wonderful, too.) I was mesmerized by the City of Lights: awed by the Louvre, delighted by the charms of the Champs-Elysees, and over-all, just tickled pink. And our hotel room really did have a view of the Eiffel tower. So my expectations were, in a sense, rooted in reality.

As it turns out though, grown-up Kate does not like big cities. I find them quite overwhelming, and so does Jordan. Paris, I re-discovered, is a very big city. Especially when you are trying to navigate by car and attempting to park said car. Beware the sneaky underground parking garage that will take you through a mile long maze underneath the city after which you will pop out who knows where. As it turns out, the affordable hotels do not have views of the Eiffel tower. They have views of the goth store across the street selling creepy black trench coats and dog collars (for people). And that was one of the nicer stores in the neighborhood. As it turns out, grown-up Kate has panic attacks on the streets of Paris when she gets lost on her bike. And an entire weekend of biking can land you at the German doctor's office the following week when your neck and upper back seize up from stress. Are you beginning to see how my expectations were not lining up with my reality? And that was the root of the problem. In fact, that seems to be the root of a lot of my problems.

Lest you are beginning to wonder why I even bothered to share the story of this weekend getaway gone awry, two things did redeem the trip: the Eiffel Tower, and the lesson.

The Eiffel Tower was just as magical as I remembered. Ten years ago, (!) Aunt Betsy took me to eat in the fancy restaurant on the second level, and we didn't have to wait in line to go up. Afterward, she asked if I wanted to go all the way to the top, but I declined, tucking away the idea to save a trip to the very top with my future husband.

Though waiting in the long line that evening made our backs ache and our feet sore, it also heightened our anticipation for the adventure that awaited. And the trip to the top of the "Tour Effiel" was enchanting. A dream come true. I took about 5 million pictures as the 

sun settled down for the night while the City of Lights seemed to awaken

A few weeks ago, I asked God for a lesson from each new city we visit. (I may need to modify that to towns now that I realized we don't like visiting cities.) In Paris, God showed me that my expectations have the potential to ruin the experience. Or at least miss the real experience. A wise friend recently told me, "The difference between expectation and reality is misery." I expected so much out of Paris. Had I begun the trip without so many notions of what it would be, I would have been much more open to the beauty of reality, and much less miserable. As it was, it's taken me a few weeks to look back on the trip with fond memories. 

I'm grateful for this insight now, because it gives me a glimpse of how my expectations have the potential to damage my relationships...especially with my husband, and with the children I don't yet have. Poor Jordan didn't know when he married me that I had years worth of future husband lists recorded in my journals...qualities I hoped and expected my husband to have. These lists were compared with my friends' lists at countless sleepovers and small groups and ultimately became a larger-than-life mental picture of the amazing man my husband would be. And my husband is amazing...but he doesn't qualify for every item on my list. No one could. It's now my choice, faced with that reality, whether to focus on my unmet expectations, or to focus on the beauty of what God has given me. Similarly, my hopes and dreams for our future children, and who they will someday become are already forming in my heart. I want to let go of those expectations and replace them with an openness for what God has in store. 

Thank you, Paris. Thank you, God.

Here are more 'redeeming moments' I captured between the traffic, panic attacks, and getting lost.

Giverny

I painted this very bridge in 3rd grade.

"Hay" there!

So fun to search Paris for "The Happenings" with this sweet girl and her hubby!

Isn't he cute?!

A Story.

Plot charts. Falling action. Exposition. Theme. These words have all been buried in the recesses of my brain, gathering dust for the past 10 years. I didn't think I would ever need them again. Yet, last month, I found myself creating lesson plans in which I had to teach these terms and concepts. Scary.

My students were gracious when I taught characterization wrong one day. They enthusiastically brainstormed themes for the short stories we read. And they humored me when I asked them to create plot charts of God's story. The story of redemption. The story of Jesus coming to earth to live as a man. The climax, of course, being when he dies on the cross, is buried, and rises from the dead three days later.

I figured this would be an easy assignment. These kids grew up as missionaries, after all! They knew this story. Most of them turned down my offer of a Bible to help them find their three required supporting verses. They already had them memorized. Neatly written charts were soon piling up in the assignment tray.

One student, working quietly in the corner, had taken a Bible and opened to the book of Matthew at the beginning of class, presumably finding his supporting verses. Yet, in the book of Matthew he stayed. Toward the end of 4th period, his plot chart was still blank. And he was still reading. I interrupted him to make sure he understood the assignment.

"Oh yes," he replied. "It's just that...I don't really know this story. I've never really read the Bible before, so I need to read it first, and then I can do my plot chart."

I attempted to mask my surprise. "Of course!...And this is a great opportunity to read it. Um...It might take you a while to read the whole thing, though, so..." I offered him extra time and suggested some adults in his life who could give him a summary. He thanked me, and continued reading.

 

A few days later, I sat grading these plot charts, remembering myself as a middle school student. I wouldn't have needed a Bible for this assignment either. In fact, that's all it probably would have been to me. An assignment. Another grade on my report card. Even though this story is the crux of my faith. It encapsulates everything I believe, affects how and why I live my life, and gives me purpose. I would be nothing without this story.

And while many of my students would agree with those words and the power of this story in their own lives, this plot chart was probably just another assignment to them, too. A nice way to integrate faith and learning. But for at least one student, this was an open door. An invitation and an opportunity to step into something new. To be exposed, for the first time, to the story of all stories.

From one man he made all the nations, that they should inhabit the whole earth;

and he marked out their appointed times in history and the boundaries of their lands. 

God did this so that they would seek him and perhaps reach out for him and find him,

though he is not far from any one of us.

‘For in him we live and move and have our being.’

Acts 17:26-28a

 

 

He is not far from any one of us.

On food. Or more precisely, carbs, and the German grocery experience.

Recently, we've taken to eating bread for dinner on Friday nights. This is not because we are missionaries, and it is not because I can't cook. (Actually, I can cook now, though some of you who lived with me during the plastic-bowls-in-the-toaster-oven phase might find that hard to believe.)

We dine on bread and water Friday nights because of the amazing bread that is sold at the amazing fruit (and bread) stand every Friday. (Warning: if you are gluten free, this post may cause feelings of dissatisfaction and anger. Read on at your own risk.)

The amazing fruit stand

This bread will change your life. The perfect balance between soft and dense. Sprinkled with a little bit of salt and some herbs. In fact, writing this post has taken me much longer than it should because of the constant urge to take another bite of said bread. Spread a little butter, coconut oil, or (my favorite) boursin cheese on it, and who needs a meat, vegetable or fruit for a complete meal?

Another favorite, though less indulged-in treat, are schokocroissants (chocolate croissants). When I was four or five years old, I would wrap a towel around my head after a bath and pretend to be Claude the Baker. This is because there was a German bakery in our town (owned by Claude) (the baker) that we frequented for his smiley face cookies and chocolate croissants. I haven't yet encountered the same yellow smiley face cookies, but I have found sad faced cookies. (Maybe some sort of German health warning?) However, chocolate croissants never fail to delight me by bringing me back to that happy childhood memory. And who doesn't love a trip to the bakery?

The German bakery experience is quite similar to what you would find in an American bakery.  The German grocery shopping experience, however, is quite different than in the states. Let me walk you through a typical trip.

Kate's guide to the German grocery store:

 

First, make sure you have some plastic bags in your car, as there are bags for purchase only in the store. If you want to be a little more charming, bring your basket.

If you are buying more than a couple days' worth of food, (which isn't common, as the refrigerators are small and food spoils quickly with less preservatives inside) bring a euro or two for a cart. Your euro will be returned to you when you return your cart, but you need to slide it into the slot to take a cart away. Hence, there is no need for the grocery store workers to scramble all over the parking lot collecting carts from lazy shoppers. Very efficient. Very German.

 

Once inside, you may need to stop at the incredible bottle eating machine (not the official name) depending on how many bottles you have collected that week. Insert all of your plastic bottles and cans, and the machine will spit out a receipt of store credit for you to spend. Do not attempt to "throw" or "toss" bottles into this temperamental machine. Unless you gently place them, it will vengefully spit the bottles back out at you, despite the fact that your arms are full and bottles are clattering to the floor.

Do not be alarmed if you don't hear any music, or if you smell cigarette smoke. Music is not played in most German stores and the smoke is just coming from the workers who are taking a smoke break out back. If you move quickly through the dairy section, you won't smell it by the time you get to the bread.

If you can stand the smoke, take a moment in the dairy section to revel in the fact
that you can buy brie cheese for only 1 euro!

If you are looking for freshly sliced deli chicken or turkey, you have come to the wrong country. After asking numerous grocery stores and butchers for "hanchenbrust" or "putenbrust", I have given up. Typically they say yes, and then point to a pinkish, brownish sausage-like cut of meat that has clearly been ground up and put into some sort of mold. And if you are looking for crunchy granola bars, stop wasting your time. They aren't here. I've looked. Everywhere. Nature Valley granola bars used to be a staple in my diet. Perfect for a morning snack, a hike, or an emergency snack in your purse that you might not need for five days but you're so happy when you find it because you're stuck in traffic with nothing to eat and your blood sugar is getting low and even worse, you're getting hangry. (Not a typo.) You may also have trouble finding pecans, salsa, good tortilla chips (according to Jordan), and almond butter.

That happy moment when you find a stowaway granola bar in your pocket after you've been in Germany for month.

However, if you want yogurt, gummy bears, pretzels, granola, chocolate, cheese, sausage, fresh fruit or veggies, you are in the right place. I find it easiest to buy whole foods because they don't involve reading German labels. If you are in doubt, just buy it, google translate it when you get home, and if it sounds too gross, bring it to share at your staff lunch on Friday. While shopping, ignore any rules you follow in America regarding personal space, or waiting your turn. If you want to be very polite, you can say, "Entschuldigen" for excuse me, but most likely, your fellow German shopper will give you a puzzled look, since pushing past someone, and even bumping into them to get through is perfectly acceptable. Don't forget to weigh and price your fruit and vegetables yourself. If you don't, the clerk will ask you to do it upon check-out and this will annoy the customers in line behind you who have all followed the rules about weighing fruits and veggies.

If the check-out lines are long, hang back a bit. Most likely, a clerk will call for back-up. But don't expect the customers behind you to honor the fact that you were in line first. No one will smile at you and insist that you go ahead of them. Once another register opens up, it's every man for himself. Don't be surprised if the man behind you jumps ahead in line and then appears totally unaware of your death glare from behind. (In hindsight, you will see this is a good thing, as you are supposed to be sharing the love of Jesus in this country.) And to be fair, if you arrive at the register with only a few items, the woman with a cart-full of groceries ahead of you, will probably let you cut in front of her.

The never-ending dairy case

Place your items on the conveyer belt, like you would normally, but be prepared to scoop them up yourself after they are scanned. Have your basket or bags ready. If you're not quick enough, just toss your purchases back in the cart and deal with them in the safety of the parking lot. I can only conclude that German grocery check-out clerks must go through rigorous training to learn how to scan items at record speeds. And of course, the counter space after the register is quite limited, so if you don't move quickly, cucumbers and yogurt will be piling up and falling on the floor.

Right about now, the clerk will say something to you that you cannot understand. She is telling you the total price for your groceries. Just hand her the largest bill in your wallet as if you have nothing smaller. Over time, you will end up with lots of change this way, but you will also avoid looking like a total fool in front of the customers waiting in line behind you. Keep in mind that once you pay, the clerk is done with you and will move on to the next customer. Do not give her any money until you are prepared to move yourself and your groceries and your cart out of the way for the next customer. (This is probably not proper etiquette, but more of a survival technique.)

(There is no picture of this step. Honestly, it would be like trying to capture a picture of a bolt of lightning.)

The clerk will hand you the receipt, and bid you "Choos!" in a sing-songy voice, to which you cheerfully reply, "Choos!" as if your heart isn't racing and you certainly aren't about to cry or simply drop from mental exhaustion. Once your groceries are nestled in your car and you have returned your cart and collected your coin, you can do some deep breathing exercises in the car to calm your nerves. This will also help in preparing you for the next step: driving a stick shift car through the narrow streets of a pedestrian filled town.

Consider your trip a success if you arrive home in one piece with some food. Because even if you don't know what you bought, or how much you paid for it, you can always serve fresh bread for dinner, and have a chocolate crossiant for dessert.

Now I know the secret...

Some of you have already discovered the secret. Some of you tried to tell me before I left. While I was nervous...wondering what they would be like, some of you already knew that middle school students are awesome.

My students are incredible. Though they aren't necessarily like typical middle school students in America. They seem more innocent...naïve in a good way. They also have incredible people skills. Most of them interact with adults as easily as they do their peers. Many of them have grown up in 3 or 4 different countries where their parents have been involved in various ministries. I have students who have lived in Sweden, Afganistan, Thailand, Brazil, Russia, Yemen, Peru, Korea, and Bulgaria...to name a few.  On the whole, their lives have been full of transitions. Some of these students are here, not because their parents are missionaries, but because their parents have jobs oversees. Several of them live with their families and commute from Switzerland or France each day.

Last week, my students wrote their life stories as an assignment for English class. A guest speaker during spiritual emphasis week here at BFA had encouraged the students to think deeply about their story: how God has used the events in their lives to shape them into who they are today.  This weekend I laughed and I cried as I read their stories.  Several of them gave me permission to share parts of their stories here with you.

* * *



            "Ever since I was born I could not hear that well. I was partially deaf. Whenever my little brother and sister would go to bed, my parents would ask me to whisper. I couldn't....Three years ago, I was at a praise and worship night at our church. A friend of ours came over from New Zealand as a guest singer. That night, he said if anybody needs healing to come up to the front row. I said to myself, "Well I'm partially deaf so of course I need healing." So I went up to the front row, and he started praying for me and boom right then I felt a warmth through my body from God. I heard 100 percent! Praise God.

             After praise and worship, I said to my parents we've got to go to right now to the hearing doctor. So my Dad took me after a few days. The doctor did my hearing test, and he said, "I have never seen anything like this before." My Dad and I were draining down tears. I was healed. Praise God!! I am so much better in school just because of my hearing. Hallelujah thank God."

 

* * *

 

            "In public school there are not many Christians and you get judged by your weight and looks. So I developed a sickness called anorexia. It was so hard on my parents. After that my parents decided that they had to change something. So that January, I got help from doctors and I was home-schooled. Soon after, we heard about a school called BFA. I felt loved for who I was. I loved it. I became closer to God. Now I am here writing my story. God was here when I lost it, God saved me."

* * *

"My parents wanted me to go to Swiss school to perfect my German. So I was in Swiss school and my German got better and better but my relationship with God got worse and worse. My academic grades were lowering; my choice of friends was not good; I started doing what they all did which gave me a very bad reputation. Kids from my class would smoke and drink at age 13-14 and I’m just there wanting to be like them but I knew what they were doing was wrong. So I was not involved in those things but I was with them.

             My parents decided to send me to BFA. At first I resisted coming to BFA. I wanted to keep on with my life as a careless person. But now, my grades and my attitude have extremely caught up and most importantly, my relationship with God. Here at BFA I have really good friendships and teachers.
             In Swiss school, teachers wouldn’t care. They would tell students that they are not going to have a future and that there’s no way back, and they really brought kids down and made them think what they said was true. So I am very grateful to be here at BFA because now I look back at my friends in Switzerland and I see them spending their time on the streets doing whatever and they don’t care and their parents don’t care. So I’m very thankful my parents brought me here to BFA because I probably would have ended up the same."

 

Praise God in his Sanctuary

I used to be of the mindset that if you've seen one old, European Cathedral, you've seen them all.

 

Until last weekend.

 

Even before entering, I was awed by the majesty of this building. I turned to Mary, "I don't know if I could really worship God in a place like this. I think the beauty...the architecture...would be distracting." Mary wisely responded that perhaps the idea behind the Cathedral's beauty was to point me toward God's beauty. I secretly dismissed the idea, being more of a 'God-connects-with-me-through-nature' kind of girl. Give me a mountain, or a lake, or an ocean and I'm set.

 

 

How wrong I was.

 

 

Never have I connected to God more through a church building. This place was a rich feast for my eyes; reminiscent of the creamy, coconut gelato I tasted in Italy. Everywhere I looked there was beauty. It was all I could do to slip into a pew and gaze, mouth slightly agape, in reverent awe. My mind held only one thought: "How awesome is God in his sanctuary." Incense doesn't usually appeal to me, but right then, I wanted even my sense of smell to be overpowered by this strong sense of God.

 

 

 

I was insignificant inside the Cathedral. In a good way. I was so small...I lost awareness of myself momentarily in the multitudes of columns and layers upon layers of arches.

 

 

It made me so excited for heaven...for beauty beyond comprehension that awaits us.

 

Countless dollars and hundreds of years...money and time that could have been spent on more 'important' things or given to the poor...worth every moment and every penny. It was the perfume that Mary Magdalene poured out on our Savior's feet.

 

 

What a deep love for God and a desire for him to be glorified must have been in the hearts of those who built this Cathedral.

 

My soul felt satisfied by this place. I didn't want to leave.

 

 

Psalm 150

 

Praise the Lord.

 

Praise God in his sanctuary;

praise him in his mighty heavens.

Praise him for his acts of power;

praise him for his surpassing

greatness.

Praise him with the sounding of the

trumpet,

praise him with the harp and lyre,

praise him with tambourine and

dancing,

praise him with the strings and

flute,

praise him with the clash of cymbals,

praise him with resounding cymbals.

 

Let everything that has breath praise

the Lord.

Praise the Lord.

 

Anxiety

It has been an unwelcomed companion of mine for many years now. At times, I've been able to rise above it and at other times, it's made me feel like I was drowning. As a child, I didn't know it had a name. All I knew was that I didn't want to go to sleepovers like my friends did and I was terrified of needles, and when I had a doctor's appointment, I would worry about it for months ahead of time. It was at its worst in early college. Moving 2,000 miles away from home to a city where I knew no one might have had something to do with that. Anxiety had quite a hold on me the summer after my freshman year. So much so that it made me anxious to leave home, even to babysit in the next town over.

Until then, I hadn't voiced this struggle to anyone but my Mom. She urged me to talk to a counselor, but I quickly dismissed the idea. Counseling was for weird people with big problems. (I'm sure you can guess where this is going...) Eventually it got so bad that I agreed to meet with our church counselor. Through meeting with her, and through Beth Moore's incredible Bible study, Breaking Free, I eventually found freedom from the stronghold anxiety had on me. But that doesn't mean that it went away forever. In fact, a teacher and mentor once warned me that I shouldn't be surprised if my anxiety reared its ugly head again, especially during times of transition.

All that to say, my old friend is back. The first month I was here, I was surprisingly calm and anxiety-free. Perhaps it was the jetlag? The shock? The honeymoon phase of life oversees? Regardless, the stress of moving, living in a different culture, adjusting to new languages and customs, and starting a new job have taken their toll, and now I feel like my throat is closing up.

In the past, when it has come back, my Mom's advice, to treat it like it's no big deal, has been immensely helpful. "Notice it, and know that you won't always feel anxious. It is just a feeling and will eventually go away." So I've treated my anxiety very nonchalantly, the way I would an ex-boyfriend. "Oh, there you are again. Don't really care." And that has helped....but I've stumbled upon something that works even better. And it's so simple I can't believe I haven't thought of this before.

I've started thanking God for my anxiety.

Now this is in no way as noble as Corey TenBoom thanking God for fleas in the concentration camp, but it's a start. Perhaps it's more reminiscent of Paul delighting in his weakness. (2 Corinthians 12:10)Without the anxiety, I wouldn't feel nearly as dependent on Him as I am. I wouldn't have to rely on praying and singing hymns to stop my throat from feeling like it was closing up. When I'm thanking Him for my anxiety, I'm not frantically trying to stop the anxious feelings. Instead, I'm actually focused on Him. "Refuse to worry, because this form of worldliness will weigh you down and block awareness of My Presence." (Jesus Calling, September 19). I am aware of His presence with me because of my anxiety. What a gift!

It makes me wonder what else I should be thanking Him for...

You know you teach at a TCK school when...

...your student tells you she can't think of the word...in English...she can only recall it in Portuguese...

...you ask your students to talk about the time they were most scared and you hear stories that begin like, "Well, we were in Kenya..."

...your student needs some extra help with English vocabulary because he speaks three different languages at home...

Opening day flag ceremony

My classroom

Teaching at BFA feels so normal at times, and other times it feels like a completely different world. The other day, Jordan pointed out one of the unique aspects of working at BFA. Every person who works here wants to be here. In fact, they've all worked really hard to get here. This isn't a starter job they're hoping to move out of in a few years. This isn't something they're doing just to pay the bills. Not that there's anything wrong with those scenarios, it just creates a different environment. The teachers and staff are incredibly excited to be here. They feel privileged to have the opportunity to work here. It makes for a very positive, exciting atmosphere!

Period 1: Homeroom and English 7th
Period 2: Planning
Period 3: ELL (English language learning) 6th (M,W,F)
Period 4: English 8th
Period 5: English 8th
Period 6: ELL 8th
Period 7: Planning
Period 8: Planning

I am one week into being a real live English teacher. Despite feeling unqualified and nervous, I've managed to make it through the first four days, and I think I even appear to know what I'm doing. The very best part came on Friday when a fellow teacher told me he'd heard the 8th grade boys talking about me during his advisory class. Apparently the word on the street is that I'm really strict. Seriously! It was at that moment that I felt I must be doing something right and perhaps I will succeed in teaching middle school.