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la_fille_francaise
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Name: Susan
Interests: My Lord and my Savior, Jesus Christ; the coolest little black cat in the world, Roxy; anything French, anything British (English, Irish, Scottish); traveling; good movies; good music; my iPod; playing sudoku; sharing the Good News (especially with the kiddies).
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Member Since:
8/6/2005
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| So I know it's been a while in my postings but I just haven't felt the need to write or get my feelings out through my blog. But now, I just started an advanced French composition class and I'd love to share my first assignment. We were supposed to go apartment-hunting in France (possibly Paris), pick an apartment and write a descriptive entry describing the area, the neighborhood, the street and the building itself. I kinda like what I've done so I thought I'd share it. (And, yes, sorry, it's in French...if you English speakers really want to read what I've written, let me know)  Here it is: Journal 1: l’immeuble La rue est comme un os du squelette qui est lui-même la ville de Paris. Elle n’est pas célèbre comme les autres du quartier, comme les boulevards Saint Germain ou Saint-Michel mais elle est néanmoins importante. Avec une courbe, la rue de Buci est une côte, un os d’importance mais sans signifiance individuel au même temps. Les boutiques de haute couture sont proches sur le boulevard Saint Germain et elles sont entourées par les salons du thé chic et les boutiques qui vendent des spécialités. Les gens qui marchent sur les trottoirs sont un mélange d’habitants, de touristes et d’autres Parisiens qui viennent pour le marché quotidien. Le marché porte une atmosphère bruyante mais vivante chaque matin. Il y a toujours les « bonjours » amicaux et le bavardage sans cesse. Pour quelques heures par jour, chaque vendeur se trouve son propre endroit, son salon d’affaires. Les voisins sont toujours les mêmes et les salutations sont toujours comme celles du jour précédent. Le marché de Buci se semble comme une petite tranche d’une province, pas une petite rue cachée dans le milieu du sixième arrondissement. Au marché, on peut trouver tout qu’on peut imaginer : les fruits de mer, la viande, le fromage, les fruits et les légumes, le pain et les pâtisseries. Les huîtres sont vendées par un vieux monsieur avec une barbe immense qui est heureux de sourire pour une photographe touristique. Puisque le marché reste ouvert plus tard que les autres, le marché de Buci attire les ouvriers et ceux qui préfèrent de faire des courses le soir. Les arômes du marché se mélangent : les fromages, le pain, les fruits de mer et les poissons. Avec eux se mélange celui du chocolat de Cacao et chocolat, la chocolaterie de la rue. Mais au même heure de la fermeture du marché, les cafés et les bars commencent leurs rituels du soir. La foule est encore des Parisiens et des touristes. Les Parisiens ont déjà leur endroit favori et les touristes ont la tendance de migrer vers les cafés plus connus comme Deux Magots ou le Procope, qui sont décrits dans leurs guides touristiques par les mots comme « historique », « important », et peut-être « intellectuel ». Si on est vigilant, on peut voir les étudiants (français et étrangers) qui poursuivent les spectres de Sartre, de Beauvoir ou de Hemingway. Si on marche la longueur de la rue de Buci en commençant par le boulevard Saint Germain, on arrive à numéro 17 après le carrefour de la rue de Seine. Beaucoup de cafés et leurs ombrelles entassent les trottoirs près de l’entrée de l’immeuble. Un supermarché, Champion, est presque perdu parmi les boutiques, les cafés et les vendeurs du marché. Il y a un salon de thé au même niveau de la rue et à gauche de cela, deux portes en bois avec des détails en métal mènent à un immeuble de pierre blanche. Il a cinq étages avec plusieurs fenêtres qui ont ses propres balcons. Quelquefois, un habitant mets une boîte de fleurs ou une autre plante hardi sur le balcon pour montrer la vie qui existe en haut de la rue. Cet immeuble est typique d’un bâtiment qui se trouve au milieu de Paris. Il est âgé mais il est comme un vieil ami du quartier qui prend un café le vendredi matin au café en face. Il entend les touristes perdus qui essayent de demander d’aide en parlant français américanisé. Il entend les motocyclettes des jeunes, les klaxons des voitures, le métro freinant et les autobus accélérants. Au matin, il entend les chansons douces d’un oiseau qui brave courageusement la vie d’une ville immense. Il entend le vent dans les arbres ou quelquefois, le son rythmique de la pluie qui tombe sur son toit. Avec ces bruits typiques, les arômes d’une boulangerie, de la chocolaterie et du marché entourent l’immeuble avec leurs parfums doux et invitants. C’est la vie d’un immeuble de la rue de Buci du sixième arrondissement de Paris. | | |
| Something that I wanted so bad a few months ago, I'm about ready to turn down. Isn't that weird how time changes things? On a totally different front (or maybe not), happy thanksgiving. And just to put it all in perspective, a quote: "What would happen if you woke up tomorrow with only the things that you thanked God for today?" | | |
| So, as part of my birthday celebrations, I got to go to the Audio Adrenaline Adios concert last night. Yeah, yeah, Mercy Me was there too and my friend David and I hated the fact that Audio A wasn't the headliner for their own farewell tour. Do they not think they can draw a big enough crowd for their farewell that they have to tour with bubblegum pop crap? (I am apologizing up front for any possible Mercy Me fans out there.) Anyways, we refused to pay service charges so we didn't buy our tickets till we got there. We got great seats straight back in row D on the aisle. It saddened me to see LOTS of empty seats. Even at 7pm when the concert started, a lot of seats were empty. Nobody else even came and sat in our row. Half of the floor seats never filled in. That was even more disappointing when I realized they weren't even using 1/2 of the convocation center. And we could tell by the type of crowd, most were there to see Mercy Me; there weren't a whole lot of typical "church punks." David and I laughed that we were going to walk out (partly in protest) before the Mercy Me part of the concert. Would anybody think we were crazy because we were leaving early?? (gasp!) Oh, and did I mention Audio Adrenaline's name wasn't even on the ticket??? Shame! Anyways, the opening act was pretty good... Phil Wickham (I think that's his last name). He has a pretty unique voice which I found even more amazing when David informed me that he was only 19 or 20. He said he leads worship too... I think he'd do a great job at Ohio Teens or some venue like that. Then, after a short break, Audio A came out in all its glory. Again, I was sad to see them playing to such a small crowd where half the place was empty. My most memorable Audio A concert is a mashing of two times that I had seen them at Alive: both times I was smushed together with probably about another thousand fans. All were jumping and going crazy. True fans. True church punks.  I thought it was funny last night when, after the 4th song, Mark said "I know some of you are still afraid of us...." , probably referring to all those straight-laced, die-hard Mercy Me fans.  Anyways, Audio A played for about 45 minutes and I guess due to time restraints, it seemed like they only played half of each song, which of course, I would have rather heard the full versions. I could have listened to them for at least another 45 minutes. Again, come on! It's their farewell tour! Give 'em more time! So they played Clap your Hands (camp's Morning Show theme song), Ocean Floor, Hands and Feet, Big House (which I like, but you know it's crossed over to cheesy when all the Mercy Me fans are singing, dancing and doing the motions little kids are now forced to learn in junior church), Beautiful (which is my favorite song to see in concert... it just reminds me of a gorilla for some reason ), Until my Heart Caves In, Mighty Good Leader, Get Down, Underdog (I think), a new one from Tyler Burkum's upcoming solo career and finally, Goodbye. They thanked us for the last 15 last years, saying they've loved playing for us and what a blessing our encouragement has been to them. Their final concert will be in Hawaii in April, 4 days, 3 nights and hopefully, they'll let them play more than 45 minutes! Anyways, David and I did leave at the intermission, we had no traffic problems and we were back at his house by 9pm... (how lame is that? just kidding) But sitting back, listening to those songs, some of which were my anthems a few years back, recalled to my mind their message and reminded me of a place in my life where I was and where I am no longer. Perhaps you may call it maturity but that's not it. I felt reminiscent and ashamed that I am no longer there and that I have forgotten the importance of being the hands and feet of Jesus. I have been too selfish on my job situation, on school, on my wants in general that I have forgotten my calling. I felt like a hypocrite because how many lessons have I taught on the Great Commission and am I doing it myself? Am I still like Isaiah when he cried out, "Here am I. Send me!!" Send me wherever You need me! Send me wherever You want me to go! I am WILLING! I know you will take care of me. I know you will be there with me! So what reason remains why I am not ready, willing and able to pack up or sell everything I own to follow your calling? Because it's a big step of faith and it's scary. Nevertheless, we are all called to do it. May we all find the faith, the boldness and the courage to step out and trust God fully with our lives. Pardonne-moi, Seigneur, parce j’avais oublié la signifiance d’être tes mains et tes pieds. J’ai honte à cause de mon égoïsme et ma perte de priorités. Aide-moi de suivre tes mots avec un cœur plein de foi et de paix. Je suis prête de te suivre n’importe où (je pense). Me voici, envoie-moi ! Au nom de Jésus... Amen. | | |
| I have this emotion that I am unable to put my finger on. I don't know exactly whether it is nostalgia or whether it's a bit of anger or whether it's sadness or even something else but I'm experiencing something at the moment... I just finished watching two episodes of the new show on the Travel Channel where 8 moms who have never set foot outside of the States go to Africa for 6 weeks. They start out in Capetown, South Africa and experience such extremes as 5-star hotels complete with massages and a gigantic breakfast buffet to spending the night in the shantytowns outside of the city. They took surfing lessons, repelled 3000 feet down Table Rock, and even spent an afternoon repainting and refurbishing a play room at a boys' orphanage where 61 boys live: boys who have had to leave their homes because of abuse/violence, alcoholism or simply because their parents didn't want them anymore. Probably strategically, the night after the shantytown and the orphanage was when they checked into the 5-star hotel. A few mothers seemed to quickly and easily forget about the orphanage and the poverty and jumped right into the luxury of the hotel while others were apprehensive and a bit disgusted to be staying in such a nice place. Also, they went to many historical places such as Robben Island which is where Nelson Mandela was imprisoned for 27 years in a tiny (maybe) 5' x 7' room. Their tour guide for the island was a former prisoner who was taken there when he was 16 and was kept there for 4 or 5 years because of his political activism against apartheid. His (as well as Nelson Mandela's) huge lesson from this place was forgiveness and reconciliation. Many mothers, dealing with their own problems in life, were emotional while trying to grasp this lesson of forgiving others. Nevertheless, I think the biggest lesson that these ladies are learning is one that I have learned and I cherish deeply in my heart: their worldview has just gotten about 100 times bigger. It's amazing to see these American mothers realize that first of all, there is more to this world than their little corner they call home. They saw the joy and appreciation in the boys' eyes when they saw their new playroom at the orphanage. They saw the extreme poverty of the shantytowns and were surprised how the inhabitants were so warm and hospitable, willing to share whatever they had. One mother mentioned how she was amazed at the fact that these same people were not angry or bitter because of what little they had; they were grateful for everything. It saddened me to see when these ladies refused to step out of their comfort zones in trying new food and declared themselves "picky eaters" that only eat simple things like grilled cheese and pizza. It saddened me to see one of them make a beeline for a McDonalds when she had the chance. The degree to which one learns is the same degree to which one opens himself up to new experiences. So I'm nostalgic because I, too, once learned some of these same lessons. Maybe I'm angry because I have never realized or seen what apartheid was doing and what are still its aftereffects. Maybe I'm sad because of these ladies that limit themselves and miss out on possibly having a wonderful experience or two. Maybe I'm a bit joyful because it warms my heart to see the expansion of this group's worldview and I can only hope that it does affect their lives, especially once this adventure is over and they return home to their little corners of the map. p.s. Just in case you're interested, they're done with the city and they're off to the next few weeks of living in the bush, complete with tents, wild animals and those "National Geographic" token African tribes. We'll have to wait and see how they do. | | |
| Scoop... chuck... Scoop... chuck... Lord, help me to become a ta'veren... Scoop... chuck... Scoop... chuck... | | |
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