I returned to France for one final night. In less than 16 hours, I would step off a transatlantic flight, enjoy a fine assortment of French cheeses, tartes and quiches, play in a large concert, say a few more goodbyes, pack most of my possessions into a couple pieces of luggage, sleep an hour and hop on a plane to Berlin. 

Even though it was jam-packed, I was thankful to spend one more evening in Toulouse. The concert was the 20th anniversary of the clarinet ensemble, so I got to play with former members of the ensemble and also a guest virtuoso. My French friends were shocked at his improvisation ability. In the Artie Shaw Concerto, he played a lick from "Happy Birthday," and I got plenty of questions about that afterward. Oh, the freedom of jazz music!

A few of my friends who I didn't have the chance to see before I left for Christmas came to the concert. I also saw other friends for one last time (or, until the next time....à la prochaine). I was reminded of just how many wonderful people God put in my path while I lived here.

I didn't start packing until about 10 p.m., but the adrenaline and caffeine helped me to finish the task. I probably spent too much time trying to maximize every last gram of my 23-kg limit, but everything I could bring with me was one less thing to mail. 

My roommate Lucy helped me get my luggage from the metro to the airport shuttle. This was no easy task. In the haze of jet lag, I didn't transfer my backpack into my large duffel bag in order to be able to strap it on my back. This meant that the duffel bag was more like a body bag – dead weight! 

Anyways, I barely got my luggage off the bus and into the airport. And if it wasn't for a nice airport employee who watched my luggage while I found a luggage cart, I might have missed my flight trying to kick the duffel bag up an incline to the check-in counter! 

All things considered, I had a smooth, short transition from the US to France to Germany. Thank you for however you supported me in Toulouse. I won't forget the chapter of my life story written in France. 

If you want to follow the encore of my French experience in Berlin, Germany, visit my new blog, D. Marie in Germany. 

Merci et à bientot en Allemagne ! 

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. 

Sometimes creative projects don't quite work out the way you want them to...and then you use them anyways. 

I found some fairly easy-to-use animation software, a voice-changing application and a semi-willing accomplice (who will remain anonymous).

The result? A low-quality, highly quirky announcement video in French. For you non-Francophones, the first announcement is about the next RAP (our pre-church group) and the second is about the Chinese-style Thanksgiving celebration coming up. 

While this is far (and when I say far, I mean really far) from my greatest work, many hours of laughter went into this project, so I feel the need to share it. Enjoy!

French is to bread as American is to _____ ? 

Hot dog!

My focus for much of my first five months here has been language learning. During the poetry unit, I wrote my first poem in French!

Our class was asked to imitate the style of French poet, Francis Ponge in his prose poem "Le Pain" (the bread). Here is his poem with an English translation.

We were asked to chose a food that represents our culture, and the hot dog hit the mark for me. Here's my prose poem in French (followed by a rough English translation). Note: some of the plays-on-words don't translate well :(.

Le Hot-dog

La surface du hot-dog est incroyablement limoneuse à cause de certains agents de conservation et de couleur qui donnent l'impression qu'il est mangeable. La forme ressemble plus à un chihuahua que à un type de viande. La longue masse spongieuse de couleur rose, brune ou plutôt rouge cache dans son corps les vies sacrifiées de cochons, de vaches ou de quelque espèce que ce soit. Comme la devise des États-Unis, il est un vrai creuset – la fusion de cœurs, de sabots et de l'occasionnel rein. Son règne n'est pas menacé. Il règne sur les barbecues des Américains à jamais. 

The Hot Dog

The surface of the hot dog is incredibly slimy because of certain preservatives and colors that give it the impression that it is edible. His shape looks more like a chihuahua than a type of meat. The long spongy mass of pink, brown or sometimes red hides in his body the sacrificial lives of pigs, cows or whatever other species. Just like the motto of the United States, he is a real melting pot - the fusion of hearts, hooves and the occasional kidney. His reign is not threatened. He will reign over the barbecues of Americans forever.

The whirring of tires and pedals. Jerseys of many colors. A cheering crowd. Cameras. Cries. Concluded. All in about a minute.

When I heard that the seventh stage of the 100th Tour de France would be passing less than an hour from Toulouse, I decided it was time to cross this off my bucket list. A few friends and I made covoiturage (carpool) reservations and set out on a "less-than-a-day" trip to Albi.

The various stages (21 to be exact) make the Tour unique. The infamous yellow jersey is worn by the overall time leader. The green jersey belongs to the rider with the most points. The red polka-dotted jersey goes to the best climber. The white jersey goes to the rider age 25 or under with the best time. There is also a combativity award and team classification given after each state. 

Each stage starts and finishes in a different city. Roads are transformed into a race course complete with cameras, VIP areas, concessions, souvenirs and the like. A couple hours before the riders finish, a caravan passes. The caravan is much like a parade, with floats, candy, hats and excitement.

While all the spectators are having a party, the cyclists are pedaling hard with only their fellow competitors for company. Then in the last few kilometers, they are greeted by the rumbling and screaming of fans (this is a short video of the last of the leaders and the American flag – we ended up behind an overly enthusiastic American).

All this work for a moment of glory. To wake up each day to start the next stage with the same routine. It reminds me a bit of the pace of life. Thirteen years of school to walk across a stage in a room full of people to receive a high school diploma. Four or five more years to walk across another stage for another degree. Years of dating before a wedding day. Nine months waiting to hold a baby. And the list goes on. 

We compete for the rare moments of glory – the times when we get the promotion, have the best car, win the race, but for what gain? The writer of Ecclesiastes writes, "All is vanity.What does man gain by all the toil at which he toils under the sun?" 

I doubt that Chris Froome, the winner of this year's tour, will wear his yellow jersey forever. One day his prize money will run out. One day he might not even be able to pedal a bike. Then what?

I find it necessary to see a more extensive picture – one where not every camera angle focuses on me, one where my successes matter, not just for me, but for my neighbor as well. One where my failures can be redeemed for the greater good. For me, I find this in my Christian faith. This doesn't mean that I don't compete, but the only prize that matters, salvation, is already won and is offered freely.

For those of you who made it to the end of this post, you will be rewarded. I have one last video to share (this one is not so serious). Just so you know that the tour really does take place in France, here a video of the baguette mascot. Yes, a man in a giant baguette suit handing out pieces of bread, baguettes and hats. Pretty amazing, right? Did I mention that the temperature broke 90 degrees (F)?

I commemorated my first birthday overseas with an ice-themed party. The word glace in French can mean ice or ice cream, so we had both!

It was my (and everyone else's) first time carving ice sculptures and making large quantities of homemade ice cream. Both were big hits thanks to high-fat French cream for the ice cream and food coloring that my brother brought for me from the States and my roommate Lucy's tool collection for the sculptures. 

I invited a bunch of new friends, and surprisingly, almost everyone came. My community here is incredibly supportive, generous and loving -- I am blessed. For more glimpses of my party, check out the slideshow below.

I made (or played) my French musical debut with l'Ensemble de Clarinettes de Toulouse on Sunday. 

Everything happened rather unexpectedly. I found the ensemble via Facebook, exchanged some emails with the director and attended my first rehearsal with the ensemble the previous Thursday. I enjoy the group immensely. The ensemble is made up of professionals, high-level amateurs and conservatory students. They welcomed me warmly, giving me compliments on my ability to speak French and sight-read music, and afterward I was invited to play for the group's last concert of the season.

As I often do, I agreed without completely knowing what I was getting myself into. All I knew was that I needed to meet the group at the metro, that we would be eating lunch and that we would be playing for two hours. 

It turns out that we were playing at an open-air festival in the countryside more or less outside of Toulouse. You could buy cheese, bread, jelly and even sheep while listening to various musical ensembles, taking a ride on a horse-drawn carriage and learning to identify tree species. Pretty spectacular! 

We ate many assorted delicious farm products (which were unidentified, but how can you go wrong?), and then we played at three sites around the festival. 

At the first station, a video camera came to tape us and some of my friends came out to watch us play. At the second station, we kept being interrupted by a lady with a very strong Southwestern accent making announcements (and I entertained my fellow clarinetists in my attempts to imitate her speech). 

The third station was on the top of a very large hill. It was probably at least a half-mile walk up and quite steep. And remember that we are carrying clarinets and stands on a very windy day. I was told after the hike that the ensemble "rarely" plays gigs like this.

At the this last station, we had a hard time keeping the music on the stand. Actually, a gust of wind took our music at the end of one of the pieces. What a finish! Thankfully the kind spectators helped us recover our music. We had torn everything down when a television station car pulled up. The camera people asked if we could play for them, and we agreed. So they rearranged the hay bales for ten minutes to set up a better camera angle, and we then we performed a 30-second clip. 

All in all, I wouldn't have imagined a debut like this, but it was fabulous. It is summer vacation now in France, and I am sad to have a couple of months without this musical camaraderie. However, on the trek back down the hill, the director offered me a first clarinet position in September for the new season. I am looking forward to continuing with this welcoming and musically skilled ensemble in the fall. 

My brother Nate came back through Toulouse after spending about a month backpacking through Europe. He was less jet-legged this time around and got to participate in some of my team's activities. The highlights of his second visit were going on a hike near the Spanish border (and then having a jam session afterward) and taking a day trip to Carcassonne. 

France has a carpool system called covoiturage, which we used to get to get to and from the fortified city. It is pretty nifty. Drivers and prospective passengers can post their itineraries on the website along with the price per passenger. Then passengers can sign up with drivers (and vice-versa). You get a code to give to the driver (which they have to enter in on the site to get paid). It worked well for us, and we made some new friends, including a pet ferret with which we shared the backseat on the return trip. 

I could write a short novel about how much it meant to me to have my brother visit, experience a bit of my life and meet some of my friends and teammates, but, instead, I made a slideshow. Enjoy!

One of my favorite things about being on a team is having the chance to brainstorm together. 

When we were trying to think of creative ways to tell the long story of the Israelites that Stephen tells in Acts 7 (before he is stoned), Binia had the idea that we could do a finger play. 

A play turned into a film that we played for our RAPP (pre-church) event on Friday night. Binia and Lucy did the hard work of creating the scenery and costumes and also spending the long hours of filming on their knees. Special thanks also to my brother Nate (he didn't know he came all the way from the United States to be put to work :)) for being my filming assistant and for the old man who reads the Bible in French (which I found in MP3 format on the Internet). 

I enjoyed doing the filming and editing (and adding sound effects :)). If you watch really closely you might catch a few malfunctions along the way. The film is in French, but for those who are not Francophones, you can follow along in your Bible (Acts 7:2-45). Happy viewing!

It is officially spring in France, and a great time to go hiking (faire la randonée). Often our team has formal sorties (outings) to go skiing, hiking or head to the beach. This time around we were more informal and each invited a couple friends to join us for a hike up a mountain in a nearby village. 

We explored a couple caves thanks to the flashlight app on Assad's iPhone. Next time, I will remember my headlamp!

Spring turned to "fall" for this part of our hike in the woods. Don't we look like a fun bunch?!

The beauty of this view couldn't be captured in a photo.

What? You mean we have to walk back down the mountain too? According to Michael, more people die on the way down than the way up (don't worry, we all made it back down alive).

One thing I am appreciating about living in France is actually enjoying spring. I forget sometimes how much hope spring brings.