The last time I was here was in February, but while we were  here then we didn’t even make it up to our the neighborhood we called home. Tonight I am staying at my friend Björn’s place and he lives really close to where we did. So, I walked up to my old neighborhood for the first time in 15 months. 

To be honest, I felt like I was walking home. It was cold so I stopped to get a café at our old hang out Place Verte. The irony is that I wanted to watch people so bad that I sat outside! As I sat there, I could remember the times that Jen and I sat there when she was pregnant, the times that we sat there when Maisie was  just days old, the times that we sat there with friends, and the time that we saw a near knife fight! 

But the hardest part on my walk was going to our old apartment…This is the last place that we called home. From the street, I could see in the windows. I could see the shades that I hung up on the doors…aparently the people who live there now like them too. I could see the mirror that I stood in front of when I sang Maisie to sleep as a newborn. I could imagine exactly how the place looked while we were there. It was if I was standing outside of my own home…except it hasn’t been our home in while. 

I had a hard time walking away from looking inside my window. Seeing that place reminded me of the memories that I have of our lives there. The laughter, the tears, the first days of Maisie’s life, the parties, the life we had in that place, and the ways in which Jen and I came together in difficult times. There were people hanging out in the living room and I could easily imagine the times that we hung out with our friends in that same space. We had a lot of conversations there that shaped who I am now. Both challenging and encouraging. 

I didn’t want to walk away from remembering these times…they were so rich with life…but I think I was starting to look creepy standing outside and staring into this building! 

As I walked away I prayed that God would help my mind go back here and cherish all the life we had there. And I heard God say, “If you think that was good, wait until you see what’s next.”

We were able to stay awake until about 8:30pm and then slept until 7:30am! At midnight Jen and I both woke up near wide awake, but we both were able to fall back asleep…thankfully.

It’s really good to be back. I didn’t really know how I was going to feel. I kind of expected to feel emotional or something, but instead it just felt so normal. I don’t know if normal is the right word…I guess it felt ordinary. A part of me felt like we had never left, but another part of me felt like my memories were dreams that I remembered really well.

Anyway…we’re back. Meeting up with friends. Making moving arrangements. Etc, etc…

Check out this link: Amazon Ordered to End Free Delivery on Books in France 

Apparently Amazon was too unFrench so the French government had to step in. It is now illegal for Amazon.com (Amazon.fr) to provide free shipping. Apparently Amazon.com was offering too good of prices for France. They were competing a little bit too much and this had to be stopped. So the government had to kick Amazon in the shin to give the others a leg up. Allez France! The world is changing and it’s ok for companies to compete without the governments help.

Maybe there’s more to it, but this is crazy.

I just took a nap…I hate naps…

But I think I had a dream about Paris. Not a day goes by that I don’t miss it.

If you go one direction from Jen and I’s place you would end up in the more ‘middle-class’ French part of town. If you go the other direction you get to experience a whole different world from ‘normal Paris’…These places don’t make their way onto postcards. Not because they are bad, but because they aren’t the typical Paris scene of a fancy monument or some trendy looking person sipping on an espresso in a little cafe window. But I love these off the beatin’ path neighborhoods.

After riding the metro a few stops I noticed something…my pastyish white skin was the minority color compared to the beautiful chocolate, coffee, and creamy colors of skin that covered the souls of my traveling companions…I was looking around at the beautiful faces of the world on my metro and I was hit with a deep sense of being human, of solidarity in the cause of being alive. I won’t describe it well…but I distinctly felt my smallness in the scope of humanity…yet at the same time I realized how each one of us have a history and a story that uniquely matters to God…Africans, Asians, Arabs, Europeans…even the tourists that got on the metro at the Sacré Coeur stop…are unique and each one is looked over with love by our Maker. I distinctly felt the love God has for me, but even bigger, the love he has for the creation that He made in His image…I began to well up with emotion just seeing the beauty of people. I am so grateful to live in a place with such rich diversity.

Sure the metro got packed…and hot…and stinky…but all I could see was the beauty radiating from the faces of the people on the metro. I wish that my eyes could see this all the time in the city.

Today I made a baggette and croissant run before home group. There was a man in front of me was looking into the case where all the croissants are displayed and he told the woman that he wanted a specific croissant that he saw…

She stretched out through the case pointing at them, “This one?”

He replied, “Not that one, this one here.”

She said, “This one?”…again.

He replied, “No the one in the front.”

Keep in mind, they all look beautiful!…and the same.

Then she finally found his award winning croissant. The truth is that when you take one bite of these things all of the flaky goodness explodes everywhere and the croissant immediately loses it’s original beauty.

What I’m saying is that it makes no difference, but he demanded to have this specific croissant. He had a croissant crush. He was ‘enbreaduated’ with it.

But you have to respect a guy who knows his croissants. A specialist…well I think that all French are bread specialists.

So if you come to France…take your time in the boulangerie. Pick a winner because they all have their subtle nuances that can make or break your croissant experience.

We were with some friends visiting from the States and they were checking into the apartment that they were renting. While they were doing their thing Jen, Maisie, our friend Sue, and I were waiting outside on the sidewalk.

There was a big long metal barrier in the street next to the sidewalk that about 60 bikes were locked to. The rack was about 30 meters long and was in a pretty odd place. As we were standing out there I heard a lady making kind of a whining/complaining sound down near the end of the rack…almost a noise that a kid would make if they were grumpy about something.

I looked up and saw that the woman was actually blind and seemed completely disorientated. She would go to step off the curb and walk right into a bike…turn around and step up the curb and walk toward the building until she hit it with her guide stick.

This must have been so frustrating and I had to do something. I ran down to her and in my best French said,

“Excuse me madame. Can I help you?”

She mumbled something to me and then tried to step off the curb again. I said,

“There a lot of bicycles here. Can I help you walk?”

She mumbled again and stepped off of the curb into the bicycles. My heart really hurt for her and this was probably both humiliating and disorientating. I said again,

“Madame there are bicycles here. Can I help you?”

Apparently my best French wasn’t good enough. She yelled at me,

“Listen!”

And slapped the ground with her guide stick.

At this point another young French guy, who may have known her, ran up and spoke with her. She was very upset and I was getting there too…partly for her, but partly because she was so sharp with me when I was trying to help her!

As the young man led her away he said,

“It’s ok. He’s English”

I’m glad that he saw I was trying to help and I thanked him for saving me from a near beat down. I did have to work hard to fight back feelings of frustration towards her…it’s ridiculous I know…but I hate that even in times when I am trying to help somebody out it gets pointed out that I am a foreigner and all the pent up feelings of being an ‘étranger’ in a bizarre place come up. It’s weird to try to do something right and then end up feeling so wrong!

Oh well…Jen helped remind me that I was trying to do a good thing and that the lady was probably just really frustrated and took it out on me. I know she’s right…as usual. I pray more and more that I will be able to see people the way God does, and not be such a sponge of other peoples issues…ahh learning. Good times.

After we left we were walking down the sidewalk and I looked into one of the ‘coiffures’ (hair cutting places). In the back of the salon I saw this young, trendy looking, guy putting curlers in an old lady’s pink hair. I thought to myself, “I bet when he started hair school he never imagined himself doing that.”

http://www.time.com/time/magazine/article/0,9171,1606909,00.html?cnn=yes

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/americas/6547881.stm