A Constantini Christmas

Well, we've successfully survived another Christmas. This one was Thomas's first as a not-quite-pastor, and I have to admit it was a bit stressful. Unlike churches I've gone to in the past, our church here has both a Christmas Eve and a Christmas morning service. The festivities began, consequently, on Christmas Eve. This was also the first time Thomas wore his new robe, which you can see here:

Rest assured that he also preaches very well without a robe, but that's how things are done here. And, when in Rome... We were very pleased that there was a pretty good turnout including a number of people who are not regular Sunday church-goers and Thomas's parents! The next morning, Thomas was off to do his pastorly duties again, and Alina and I went to help get Christmas lunch ready. Somehow, despite being one-handed, my mother-in-law (along with Thomas's grandma) managed to do everything pretty much without me. My contribution consisted mainly of playing with Alina.

When Thomas got there, we had round one of presents:

followed by a very good, very large, 5-course lunch, followed by a well-deserved nap. Around 6:00pm, we returned home to our still-package-laden Christmas tree

for round two of presents.

Yesterday actually marked the end of an era at our house. Up until yesterday, Alina owned no battery-operated toys. No electronic beeps, no annoying, repetitive music, no flashing lights. Well, that's all over now. I have to admit, though, that she LOVES her hot pink, baby phone.

For those of you who might be fearing that the festivities have interfered with Alina's musical education, here's proof that this is not the case:

For Mommy's practicing, however, it's a different story.

Time Warp

We have some sort of time distortion going on in our house. According to our Advent candle, it is only December 12. According to the Advent calendar on our wall (a chocolate for every day!), it is, in fact, the 22nd, and we only have 2 more days to find a Christmas present for Thomas's grandmother. Whatever the case, my internal clock said it was finally time to set up our Christmas tree. One trip to the store later, to purchase Christmas lights that actually work, and our tree is officially decorated with all of my Christmas ornaments from when I was a kid, plus a few we've picked up as we've started our own collection. OK, not ALL of my Christmas ornaments. I think the pink foam glittery star I made in kindergarten that's been missing a point for at least a decade went to that big Christmas tree in the sky a year or two ago.

Was it worth the last-minute flurry of activity? I know Alina won't have any memories of this Christmas besides what she can get from pictures we take, but it was so fun to have her help me unpack the ornaments and hand them to me. Each one was a new discovery that called for a little cry of surprise. She got so excited when we turned the overhead light off so there were only twinkly Christmas lights! And then there was the moment where she sat on my lap and looked at the tree, with her hands clasped and her face full of wonder.

That's what Christmas is about. Not the lights or the tree, but the little-baby wonder I can read on Alina's face, when everything is new and exciting. We've all heard the Christmas story tons of times, but this year, try to hear it as new and exciting all over again.

Now, if only we had Christmas stockings...

Baptism by Fire

So far, Thomas's vicarage has been more eventful than we thought it would be. Our pastor, Marc, underwent pretty major surgery Monday. As we said before, this effectively knocks him out for Christmas. Thomas is suddenly in charge of a local church during a major church holiday season. Monday, as Marc was waiting to go into surgery, who did he happen to run into, but...my mother-in-law. She was also awaiting surgery. She had fallen on Sunday morning and broken her wrist. They had to do surgery and set some pins in it, and she was there, waiting to go into surgery at the same time as Marc was.

This also complicates our lives a little, as Thomas's parents often keep Alina while I'm teaching and do all sorts of other useful things for us. We feel a little bit like we've suddenly become a target. We know that greater is He who is in us than he who is in the world, and we'd really appreciate your prayers!

Over the last three days, Thomas has handed out about 500 Christmas tracts in mailboxes in Melle and Saint-Maixent, a nearby town. Pray that these tracts will fall upon open hearts and that this will be good exposure for our church.

Hol(e)y Rags

Anybody got a good use for holey cloth diapers? And don't say dust rags because dust rags are only useful if you actually dust.

All Mortal Flesh

This Advent season or, for you non-liturgical folk, pre-Christmas season, I've been thinking a lot about the song "Let All Mortal Flesh Keep Silence." I love this song. It's not a well-known Christmas carol, and we didn't sing it in church when I was growing up, but it's become one of my favorites. Perhaps because it isn't quite so familiar, perhaps just because it's gorgeous. It's Christmas-eve, candle-light service gorgeous.

I did an arrangement of it several years ago for two violins, but since my duet partner is several thousand miles away, I've been thinking about doing a solo arrangement of it. I have some ideas (a D drone here, some false harmonics there) but don't quite know yet how to fit them into a logical, yet non-redundant whole.

Given the context I'm in, though, I had to ask myself, "Does this song exist in French?" Generally, I prefer to play instrumental music in church that people actually know. I've been doing some research. It turns out that our English words, that you can find here http://www.cyberhymnal.org/htm/l/e/letallmf.htm are a translation of the original Greek words which date from the 4th century. They were theologically deep back then apparently. The melody is a traditional French melody dating from the 17th century. I figured that if the melody is French, there must be French words, right? Well, there are, and I found them. Actually, I found them to be extremely disapointing.

The original French version of this tune is a song called Jésus Christ s'habille en pauvre where Jesus, disguised as a beggar, knocks on the door of a house and asks for dinner. The husband tells him to get lost, but the wife invites him in, feeds him, and lets him stay the night. Jesus tells her that they're both going to die in 3 days, she will go to heaven, and her husband will burn in hell.

How nice.

I'm sure that, shady theology aside, we could draw very edifying lessons about hospitality and charity from this song. But, these are NOT the words that inspire me, and I guess I'll have to save my Christmas eve solo for when I can play it in an English-speaking context.

In the meantime, I'm making an effort not to be so busy with things worldly-minded that I neglect to keep silence before the King of kings whose coming we remember at this season.

Not Camera Shy

It's hard to take good pictures of someone who thinks a camera is a toy. If said person is immobile, the pictures usually look like this:

If they're mobile (and you're quick) you might snap one that looks like this:

But an awful lot of them end up looking something like this:

Actually heard

A phrase actually uttered in our house today:

"No, no, Alina, how about if we don't put the music box in the potty, OK?"

I'll bet YOU've never said that!

Thoughts from rainy Melle

Hello to all from a rainy, dreary Melle afternoon. My apologies to those of you who wrote us comments on our blog recently. Pesky machine is supposed to notify my email when that happens. Here are some random thoughts:

Thomas is afraid I might've scared some of you away with that last post. Hope you're hanging in there with us!

No sense dreaming of a white Christmas here. Dreaming of a dry Christmas, maybe.

I've discovered a Red Cross thrift store across the street from our house. I didn't know they HAD thrift stores in France!

How come getting Alina to take a nap feels a bit like winning the lottery?

There was a time during my high school and college years when I would have been overjoyed if you had told me I would never again play a cheesy Christmas concert. Now, I miss Christmas carols. They just don't have the same cultural importance here as in the US. You have to go out of your way to listen to Christmas music at Christmas time here.

Surprise! The after-church potluck is happening at our house tomorrow! (If only you could see the state of my living room. No, maybe it's better you can't.) Dawn, welcome to being a pastor's wife.

Now that I know how blog feeds work, I can actually subscribe to other people's blogs, too.

Yesterday was a one-wet-diaper day. This is great!

A Breakthrough

Now here's a burning question: Is it actually possible to play the violin without a shoulderpad? A lot of the famous pros do. But, then, a lot of the famous pros are big, hulking men built nothing like me. Is it actually possible for someone built like me to play the violin without a shoulderpad? Until recently, I would have said no. People who play without shoulderpads are an interesting species. Usually, they're very, very convinced (to not use the word "rabid") about their non-shoulderpadness. I heard once about a university professor who invited all his naive freshmen to a barbecue at his house at the beginning of each year, and told them to bring their violins. Little did they know they were to be attending a shoulderpad-burning party.

The director of the music school where I work plays without a shoulderpad. Now, this didn't need to affect me at all, since she told me up front that it didn't bother her that I did, nor did it bother her if I taught my students to do the same. The sticky issue was that I was taking over several of HER students who all, of course, play without.

My experimentation started out altruistically. "If I'm going to teach these students who play without shoulderpads, I need to experience what they're feeling." That's how it began. I found myself awkwardly trying to get around my instrument without my usual crutch. Then something clicked. It actually started WORKING. I mentioned something to the director about this discovery, and she gave me the key to make it work even better.

Play laying down.

It sounds dumb, but it works. When you're laying down, gravity holds the violin against your neck, so you don't have to "hold" it at all. All the shifts become vertical movements. Shifting "up" is moving with gravity. Shifting "down" is moving against gravity, but feeling gravity still holding the instrument in place. The thumb and hand guide the instrument, but don't actually need to "hold," either.

If you get a good feel for that, then it still works standing up.

I'm not ready to take the plunge and become one of THEM. At least, not yet. I have reverted to using something much less cumbersome than before, however. It feels good.

And for any non-violinists who think "breakthrough" is a bit melodramatic to refer to what I've just described...well...let me assure you it is an entirely appropriate word.

Villiers-le-Bel

I don't know how many of you keep up on French news, but there is trouble in the French suburbs again. It's not nearly as widespread as the rioting that went on two years ago, but this is another flare-up of an underlying, ongoing, and quite serious problem. I'm often not as up on current events as I'd like to be, but every time this story is covered, my ears perk up. Why? Because it's happening in Villiers-le-Bel. Villiers-le-Bel is a town literally just down the street from Ecouen. Where, or what is Ecouen, you might ask? Ecouen is the town I stayed in with the rest of my group the first time I came to France. Ecouen is the place where I fell in love with France. It is also, incidentally, the place where, a few years later, a young French man and a young American girl first had a talk about their respective futures possibly coinciding. But I digress. We worked with a church in Villiers-le-Bel, the homechurch of my friend Helene. The pastor, Pascal, touched us all with his honesty and his motivation to spread the good news of Jesus.

About a week ago, two boys were riding in the streets of Villiers-le-Bel on a motorscooter. Unfortunately, they got in an accident with a police car and both boys were killed. As far as I know, the police were ruled not to be at fault. The event and non-punishment of the police officers so angered youth in the town that there has been trouble ever since, including an attack on a police station.

Sometimes I just shake my head at the fact that someone, even ten years ago, would take a group of mostly-female American college students to some of the places we went. Of course, ten years ago, the situation maybe wasn't quite as tense as it is now. But I have vivid memories of getting firecrackers thrown at us and other such pleasantries. Mostly, though, I remember the kids. Kids everywhere. And so many of them just wanting attention. Just wanting love.

I don't know if there's hope for the Paris suburbs, outside of some sort of sweeping revival. Honestly, getting away from that mess was a motivating factor in our move to Poitou. I can just hope and pray that some of those kids we met that summer might remember us and grow up to think that Christians (and Americans) maybe aren't so bad after all.

Vicar Thomas

Last week, Thomas was officially welcomed as a vicar by our local church here in Poitou. In case you're wondering, vicar is a fancy way of saying intern pastor. He's the one in the funny shirt in the picture. No, no, the one on the RIGHT in the funny shirt in the picture. On the left is Marc, our current pastor who will be retiring in April. Actually, not only do they have the same shirt, but they realized they shop at the same places, as they have exactly the same suit. That's what I call walking in the footsteps of your predecessor.

We were very encouraged by the service and by the fellowship time afterward. There were several extra people in attendence including a reformed pastor Thomas has known for a long time who came to show his support and two sisters who come occasionally with their children. This is, of course, an important milestone for us and for our ministry here. God has been good in providing the finances for Thomas to be in ministry full-time, at least for now. There may even be a way, since he has been unemployed, that the unemployment service might pay him and pay the church to train him for three months! We're definitely looking into that option.

On another note, Marc, our pastor, has just learned that he will need an operation. He'll be operated on, Lord willing, December 17. This will effectively put him out of commission for Christmas. This will give Thomas a lot of extra work, so we'd appreciate your prayers for us as well as for Marc and his family.

One Small Step

Or, rather, two. That's how many steps it took Alina to reach her daddy this evening. Yes, two unassisted steps. Her daddy is super proud.

Home

You realize you're really back home when an old gentleman of your church tells you he remembers your great-grandfather who was a postman in his village...

Being green

So, what does it take before you become an environmental nut? It's true we don't buy everything organic, but we're doing it more and more. My latest thing is that I have seeds sprouting in a jar on my kitchen counter. My father-in-law now thinks I'm crazy. Of course, he thought that before. But, anyway, you can buy a special thing to grow seeds, but I opted for the jar method. Simple, and very low-cost. Today, 5 days into the experiment, I decided that they were sufficiently sprouted and that we needed therefore to eat them. So, at lunch, we had a salad with sprouted barley seeds. (Also known as barley spouts, I suppose.) It was pretty good, and Thomas said he liked it, too. It's organic, easy, cheap, and supposedly full of vitamins. Yay!