Don't Shudder, Open the Shutters

Something is not right. As I took my daughter to school this morning at 7:30am, it was dark outside. Then later in the day when driving home after picking her up, I had to turn on the car's headlights again.  So that was all the light this November Monday had to offer us - one school-bell book-ended day's worth? Granted, I know Grenoble  is not the frozen tundra of northern Finland.  I know this because the French do not eat canned decayed fish remains. And because we also get the occasional December sun rays. But really, as we edge our way closer to winter, night creeps in just a little too quickly for my liking.  I was explaining  to Emma as streetlights illumined our way home, that each year, from June 21st to Dec 20th, it gets darker one minute earlier every day.  Then I thought the same could be said for the spiritual atmosphere -  the world  getting a bit darker day by day, until one day you look around and say, "Is that all the light we've got?"  A little too much world, and much too few Christ-followers shining. The problem with that is that an overdose of darkness can cause some to sink into  depression or just feel like ordering take-home and hunkering down for a long night. But I hate giving in to darkness.

I instinctively want to turn on all the lights possible, despite high electric bills. And the Green Party. And I love flashlights. Never saw one in the store that didn't appeal to my purchashing instincts. My wife says I can never have too many of them.  I also don't like French shutters. Or should I say I don't like them closed. Almost every French house has shutters, a hold-over from the early days in ancient Gaul, where the state would tax citizens on the evidence of wealth that could be seen in their homes. As the king's officers came around for a little looky-see in the windows of the neighborhood, shutters became a sort  of  medieval tax-evasion.  Sure, they make the outside of a French home look quaint and post-card worthy. But when closed, they turn a man's castle into a cave.  One of my first jobs in the morning is to open the shutters and let the sunshine in. Ok, actually you already know what one of my first jobs in the morning is. But directly AFTER that is when I open the shutters.  I like there to be light. And not just any light, but natural light. The problem with artificial light is, well, it's so... fake.  But there's nothing like real, true, bonifide sunshine to illumine a room, light up a smile, or brighten your life.

One great thing about the winter solstice, is that right after it marks the year's darkest day is when the momentum begins to change. Light begins to hold sway, as we are led by increasingly longer-lasting days  to early spring sunrises and late summer sunsets.   Authentic light. This is what we need more of as our days get increasingly darker.  God is going to do His part. He's the father of lights, not shifting shadows, in whom there is no darkness at all. He has already programmed into the seasons of history that bright Day that will illumine every dark word and shadowy deed. A world plunged into darkness will one day be bathed in His light. No matter how dark it gets, He is destined to shine. But in the meantime, how bright am I making it in my corner of this dark planet?  We should neither run from nor curse the darkness. Let's break out every flashlight, candle and lantern we have and throw open the shutters, illuminating every home and every neighborhood with as much of His authentic light as we can as the Day approaches.

"Taking the Wind out of my Sales"

     It was a day we had been waiting for with anticipation for almost two years. We were almost giddy with excitement and brimming with anticipation. The Tour de France? No, Grenoble was rebuffed this year for smaller, prettier suitors.  A dream vacation?  Hardly. A trip to the Greek islands wasn't in the cards nor the budget. No, I am speaking of the once-a-year extravaganza called the Gières Vide Grenier.  Gières is the little suburb in which we live, and a vide grenier (literally "empty attic") is our version of a community-wide rummage sale. We don't have an attic. But we do have a garage, which is a lower altitude version of an attic that a car is supposed to go  in but rarely does. And our garage was badly in need of being vide. That's right. We finally were going to participate in this major event that afterward would allow us to walk through our garage without stubbing a toe or snagging a sweater. It was an event we were forced to wait for, even though we had barrels full of stuff. Just accumulated this-and-that that got shipped from Bangladesh but that either wouldn't make it into our more down-sized residence here  or had been broken by the thugs who loaded/unloaded our container.  Why a wait of two years to participate?  First, we were not permitted by customs laws to sell,  give away or otherwise dispose of anything we brought duty-free into France  for a minimum of one year. Why a second year of waiting?  We hadn't taken advantage of the opportunity last year because, frankly, we didn't feel that our French was  up to the task. We imagined ourselves approached by interested buyers, asking us various questions in French such as "Ceci coute combien?" ("How much is this?") or "Prendrez-vous quatre-vingt dix centimes?" ("Will you take 90 cents?) and us botching a transaction by inadvertently saying something like "Écoute-moi, Crétin!" (Listen to me, you moron!") When we meant to say "Ça coute moins que tu crois"  ("That costs less than you think"). Nothing hurts sales like insulting the customers. Its one of those timeless business principles.

     We've done more yard sales than you can shake a stick at.  But in France, there's no Wal-Mart, selling garish fluorescent poster board. And here you're not allowed to duct-tape badly written signs to lampposts in the wee hours, directing weekend bargain hunters to the sale held in the comfort of your garage driveway.  No, this kind of clandestine self-promoting activity is frowned upon by the authorities. You must wait for your town's annual vide grenier where everyone breaks out their old VHS tapes and scuffed ski boots to sell all at once and all together at what inevitably becomes one huge blur of junk. With the exception of our table, of course. But we couldn't get most of the people looking down their noses at our neatly displayed wares to see that.  We had stellar crowds, but sub-par sales.  They kept gawking and going by, but few reached for their wallets. I think most of our comrades had the same experience, based on the amount of full boxes seen going back into vendors' cars at the end of the day.  It just reminded me of an important principle - if you have junk, just get rid of it. No one else is probably interested in my junk. And I shouldn't hold onto it in the hopes that I can profit from it before letting it go.

     There's different kind of "junk" all of us have. There's the stuff in the garage and attic. And then there's the soul variety.  Sometimes we need someone else to come around and look scornfully at what we've been holding onto to realize it's not really worth what we imagined. Better to just cut your losses and let it go. There's no more room for it and it's really just clutter anyway.  Thankfully, we also have a recycling center in our town called a déchetterie that is open almost every day. I can drive right up to the big container any time I want, dump what I don't want and drive away. That simple. I don't need to wait for the big yearly moment to see if it's really worth tossing out or not.  Needless to say, we won't have a table to sell things next year.  But my garage is staying junk-free just the same.

I scream, you scream for escrime

The 2012 Summer Olympics are over. This time it was a unique opportunity to see the games broadcast on French television. That meant we saw a lot of coverage of some events that never got much attention from the American networks back in the day - like kayaking, handball, and fencing. Ah, fencing. A passion for the French. Here it is better known as escrime. I am sure the word comes form the sound made by a competitor getting jabbed repeatedly by a very sharp and pointy object. I couldn't help but think all that white protective gear made the event look like armed and dangerous bee-keepers jostling for territory in the orchard.

I found myself cheering enthusiastically for the French athletes. I don't think I've ever cheered for France in the Olympics before. But there I was, getting just as excited for the French women's basketball team and  men's gold-medal pole-vaulter, as I was for all the American swimmers, gymnasts and track stars. It was a great realization - knowing that France had now captivated our hearts to the point that I felt a pride and loyalty for a nation that had not been on our map for many years. Somehow, somewhere France got more ingrained in our hearts. That's what obedience can do.

We didn't come up with the idea to move to France. It was God's idea, that slowly became a choice we were willing to make out of sheer obedience. And after two years of deciding to follow His plan, the people and the place that were His choice for us, have now become a people and a place that we would choose again all on our own. Because of His grace. And because the love He has for any place and any person can be transplanted to our hearts in a real way. Sometimes we wait for feelings to be right before we move. For us, we moved, and the feelings got worked into the dough a little at a time. Whether it's forgiveness, loving our neighbor, or saying we're sorry, a little action can do wonders for an attitude. Go ahead - make that move. You just might be surprised at who you start rooting for.