We are products of culture – including geography, heritage, family, language, cuisine and so much more.

Before coming to France, the longest I had lived in a "foreign" culture was five months when I traveled with a music and relational ministry team around South America. Even though this was a significant and formative experience, we were living in host homes and changed locations on average weekly. I could never "settle in."

In Toulouse, I had an address and the opportunity to establish myself as a resident of the city. Even as a foreigner, I had a sense of belonging. 

We often talk about how we made a mark on a place, but in this post, I want to talk about how this place and country made its mark on me. 

So how did I change? I'm sure I have yet to note all the ways. Besides the obvious differences like speaking the language and knowing more about French cuisine, here is a short list of the differences I am aware of:

1. I don't drive. It has been more than 10 months since I have driven a car. Crazy, right? Europe has a great public transportation system, and Toulouse is no exception. I learned landmarks and gave directions in relation to metro stops. With the lack of parking (and necessity of parallel parking if you do find a spot), I appreciated using my own two feet when I could. I also had a bike card where I could check out a bike from one station and return it to another. Covoiturage or carpool was also my friend and a great way to meet new people and get where I needed to go.
2. I value quality over quantity. Most of you know that I am a recovering bargain hunter. I still love a good deal (and free stuff). However, I now look for signs of quality (like looking to see if a bottle of wine was bottled on the property or seeing whether a cheese was made with pasteurized or raw milk). Not having a car, I adopted French habits of buying less more often. Having a collection of 50 cereal boxes was no longer realistic. My pantry consisted of a few packages of pasta and rice, spices, a box of cereal and oatmeal, and a few baking staples. 
3. I buy more freshly and directly. One-stop shopping is synonymous with the United States. In France, I learned to buy my fresh fruits and vegetables from the market, my meat from the butcher shop and my bread from the bakery. I appreciated eliminating the "middle man" when possible and having a more relational buying experience. And let me tell you – fresh is better! I only bought a few bags of frozen vegetables for the times that I couldn't make it to the market. 
4. I take more time. I used to think it took forever to get anywhere. Now I am used to budgeting an extra half-an-hour on each side of an errand. It is normal. I make more meals from scratch (microwaves are just for reheating leftovers), and I expect lunch to take at least an hour and dinner to take at least two hours. I still value efficiency, but with the realization that I will never get as much done as I would like to each day. And I'm ok with it.
5. I agree to disagree – all the time. I assume when I meet someone that we probably don't share the same beliefs, and it doesn't intimidate me. While I don't volunteer much information up front, I am comfortable expressing my ideas without worrying if someone will be deeply offended and disown me. The French have mastered the art of respectful, intelligent debate, and I am a fan. 

"Variations Sur Un Air Du Pays D'Oc" was lying on top of my end table when I was looking for clarinet music to practice this summer. I knew I had packed it, but I honestly didn't know much about it.

I played this for a high school contest when the only French I knew was, "bonjour" and "merci." I'm sure my French friends would have been appalled at my Anglicized pronunciation, which would have gone something like, "Vay-rie-ay-shuns suhr unn air doo payz dock." 

Now, having lived in France for several months, I knew that pays d'oc was referring to the region of France where Occitan, a dialect, is spoken. Toulouse, the city I was living in, belongs to this language group. 

After doing a bit of research, I learned that the composer, Louis Cahuzac, grew up less than two hours from Toulouse and attended the Toulouse conservatory. This piece was based off of a folk tune, Se Canto, originating in the valley of the Garonne (which is the river that runs through Toulouse). I never imagined that I would get so "close" to this music. 

How did this high school musician from Minot, ND end up as a 20-something Christian worker in Toulouse, France? God only knows. 

He knew long before I even learned to play a clarinet, that I would be called to serve in France. He knew I would become a part of a beautiful community where I could walk alongside and support nationals, learn French and even be given the opportunity to play in a French clarinet ensemble (with clarinetists and teachers from this very same conservatory). 

Already, the variations of my life that God has written astonish me. The timid girl who couldn't even raise her hand to use the bathroom became a high school student who loved performing. That young woman became a college student with three majors, who felt called to lead a team of five strangers playing music and doing relational ministry in the US and South America after she graduated. That fledgling leader got broken of entitlement during a 15-month period of underemployment, started a couple ministries with help from friends, organized some renegade trips to serve in Ecuador and China while working full-time and then left it all to move to France. 

Now, in my last years of my 20s, I am off to Berlin to tell the stories of what God is doing as Christians unite to seek the welfare of the city. Do I know what this next variation will bring? Not completely. But I know that God writes some incredibly beautiful symphonies out of our brokenness and weaknesses and that His plans are much more extensive and trustworthy than mine. 

"'For I know the plans I have for you,' declares the Lord, 'plans for welfare and not for evil, to give you a future and a hope.'" – Jeremiah 29:11