thoughts on european year one

Three months... two months... one month... three weeks... two weeks... thirteen days... twelve days... eleven days... That's what's going on at our house, we're counting down the months, the weeks, and now finally the days until our departure. The days are slipping by, only a week and a half until we board the plane. The plane that will take us across the Atlantic, across the continent. We'll land in the Emerald City and I will cry. It will be inevitable. To be once again in the place I call home will be too much for me.

A few days ago we celebrated one year of being in Switzerland. One year. It doesn't seem like that long ago that we were clearing up our house and storing things away. That we packing our twelve suitcases with all we were bringing and saying our goodbyes. And yet, when I think of all the things we've done this year, it truly does seem like a year.

I have grown so much in the past twelve months. For example, in the beginning I remember when we went to France, I thought of it only as a place to buy the groceries because it was less expensive than Switzerland. I thought that it was simply a huge tourist attraction, a country majorly populated with elderly people, and the better place to get groceries. I was slightly prejudiced. I inherited this mindset inherited from my dad's family, a reminder of what it was like after WWII. From stories I've heard, before the war the towns in this valley were much like any others, they visited friends, the young people had dances together, people married, rather forgetting that there was a border in between them. But after the war, the both sides became a little prejudiced against the other nation (Switzerland is a neutral country and was doing the World Wars). These feelings have largely calmed down since then, but for both my grandparents, who were born during WWII it's a little hard to let go. At any rate, that's what I felt coming into year. But then we started going to a French church and everything changed...

Well, not immediately. It took several months. It's really only been the past little bit that this transformation has taken place in me. I've learned that there are beautiful kind people in France, and that it doesn't matter where you are - you can always worship Christ. We are so blessed to have found a church like ours is, it's not that common. We have met amazing people there, and yet it still somehow surprises me sometimes that there are so many nice young people (although we have lots of kind grandparents in our church body too) in France. I find myself thinking, 'They can't be French, it just doesn't fit my stereotype!'

The Lord has worked in my heart and showed me that no matter what our nationality, we can all be his children. I have learned that people can be kind and generous and fun and funky in no matter what language or country.

And in the end, the French people have captured my heart. My dad once said that he wonders if I'm not more French at heart than Swiss, and I can't help but wonder if it's true.

Whatever we decide in the next year, whether to stay longer or not, I know that either way, my heart will be divided in two. One half will stay in a rainy coastal corner of America and the other will be here, in the gentle hills of Switzerland and France.

{pictures taken at a birthday party for one of the people in our small group. fishing in the river and playing with adorable little girls. we have awesome people at our church. love.}