After I wrote "How France Changed Me," I realized there were a lot of significant changes that I left out. With no further adieu, here are a few more ways that I have been transformed.

1. I use the metric system. I am not afraid of Celsius, kilometers or milliliters anymore. I can even tell you what a centiliter is. 
2. My social etiquette has changed. You will find me waiting for a bon appetit before beginning to eat. My finger foods group has shrunk. I find kissing people to say hello and goodbye more or less normal. 
3. I use the 24-hour clock. Seven p.m. is now 19:00. Midnight is now 0:00. The nice thing about the 24-hour clock is that you can't mistakenly set your alarm for a.m. instead of p.m. I'm converted!
4. My friends are just my friends. Growing up in a fairly homogenous population, other ethnicities and nationalities were rare. In France, it was pretty normal to meet people from other countries. I no longer have American friends and French friends. Friends are friends. Period.
5. I value Sabbath time more. In France, everything was closed on Sundays. At first, I had to be intentional about making sure I had everything I needed on Saturday. After a while, I appreciated the quiet of Sundays and the fact that nearly everyone could rest and/or spend time with their family and friends on that day. Also, in learning a new language and adapting to a new culture, I was tired more often. This was more difficult than stores being closed. Eventually, I accepted the fatigue and gave myself permission to read a book, take a nap or go to bed early once in a while. 

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

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!

Sometimes as a driven, perfectionistic overachiever, I want to be able to do everything. And not only that, but I want to do it faster, better and beyond anyone's expectations of me. 

As you might imagine, this often becomes a stumbling block of sorts. And when you run full speed into a stumbling block...well, let's just say that it isn't a pretty sight.

You might say it is kind of like lasagna after being locked (literally) in an oven for 24 hours and then going through the cleaning cycle (in order to disengage the lock) – still in one piece, more or less recognizable, but not really beneficial for much of anything. 

One thing I have learned to do during my first months here is to celebrate small victories. It is in reflecting on these little improvements, that I see progress and the grace of God in my life. Here are some of the victories I have celebrated since I arrived in late February:

• understanding everything spoken to me in the check-out line
• taking a nap three days in a row
• praying in French
• successfully conversing with a native speaker
• learning how to pronounce my name (it is so hard from me to distinguish my name from "Daniel" and to mute the "h" in "Hance")
• roasting peanuts and making my own peanut butter (a lot cheaper than buying it here and tastier)
• being invited into a French friend's home
• sharing the story of my call
• successfully navigating myself to a new place in the city
• being able to feign accents while speaking French
• greeting and having small talk with my neighbors
• building our French association's website
  
• having friends accept my invitations to come to events
  
• being asked if I was French
• hanging out with a group of friends
• successfully giving directions
• hosting a game night
• making an appointment with the chiropractor

When I look at this list, I realize that, as cliché as it sounds, there are a multitude of abilities that I have taken from granted. And one of the beautiful results of living in another culture is a newfound appreciation for what I can do. It is also a greater realization of my dependence and necessity of God's power and strength. I can't do everything, and I don't have to. But I will do what God calls me to do, knowing that He is able to do immeasurably more than I can ask or imagine by His power at work inside of me (Ephesians 3:20). 

Michael and Emilie invited me to come skiing during my second week here in Toulouse. After making sure that they knew that I had only been skiing once and only in the Turtle Mountains (which are really actually hills) of North Dakota, I agreed to go.

The Pyrenees Mountains (see above) were absolutely spectacular, as was the weather. However, I don't think the same can be said about my skiing.

As we went higher and higher into the mountains on the chair lift, my questions also increased. Mostly I wanted to know what not to do (so I wouldn't die coming down). 

Michael spent the first hour or so trying to teach me how to turn. I learned that by skiing horizontal lines back and forth, I wouldn't go careening down the mountain. 

It wouldn't have been so difficult except that my sheer terror led me to fall and fall again (and learning to get up on skis was a lesson all in itself). I kept praying that God would teach me to ski (and keep me from all forms of death and murder). 

Eventually I gained enough proficiency to follow Emilie down the mountain trails. I did have my share of falls and one good wipeout, but there was always someone to help me up if I was having trouble. What worried me the most was trying to avoid other skiers, but thankfully I avoided crashing into others. 

Near the end of the day was when my biggest trial came. Emilie and I had been sticking to one blue trail (green is the easiest followed by blue, red and black). For our last run, we were going to all three go down a different blue trail. 

At first the trail was fairly easy, but then it got harder. I ended up picking up too much speed and falling. After I got up, Michael was calling my name and telling me I had to get where he was -- which was uphill from me. If I kept going down the path I was on, I would have had to take a taxi back. 

So I ended up sidestepping my way back up the hill. I'm not sure how long it took, but it felt like an eternity. And I was moving pretty slowly, all the while afraid that I would end up tumbling down the wrong path. It took all the strength I had to get up the mountain and turn back onto the right path. 

The adventure didn't end there. This last trail was narrow, so instead of using the back-and-forth technique I had learned, I was to snowplow down (as to not go to fast). This technique is pretty tiring and, to complicate matters, the clouds covered the sun, making it hard to distinguish the topography of the snow.

Then Michael realized that the grade of the trails was getting steeper and steeper, so he told me to take off my skis and walk down. I half-slid/half-walked down, and Michael took my skis. Neither one of us was moving all that well, so we waited for help.

Fortunately a member of the ski patrol came within minutes. He called for a ski taxi (basically a snowmobile) to come rescue me. I rode that to the descending chair lift, and then the ski staff helped me get my skis and poles with me for the ride down.

Michael and Emilie got to have one more nice (and I'm sure much more relaxing) run while I made my way to the aid station. At the end of the day, my skiing had much improved, and above all, I was thankful to be alive. It was definitely a character-building day!

After my first couple days in Toulouse, I got one last taste of winter weather. Granted, it didn't even come close to the storms we had in the Midwest this year, but it did remind me a little bit of home. I appreciated that the snow stuck to the ground -- at least for a day.

I have been well taken care of and busy these first few days. My teammates helped me get a metro card, open a bank account, register for language school and buy groceries, among other things. 

We had a pre-church gathering (called RAPP here...it's an acronym), and I enjoyed playing clarinet, djembe and egg shaker, studying the Bible in French and eating a delicious meal with new friends. 

I prayed for the first time in French during my first week (at a team prayer meeting...not in public :)) and went to my first French church service. After church, I received a "Christmas" gift from a new friend -- two French comics-style picture books and a vocabulary book. Joyeux Noël!

My flights to France had a bit more excitement than I expected (if you don't want to read through this story in pictures...in the end I did make it here to Toulouse). 

This first photo is from the Fargo airport. My parents had to take me via an alternate route because the main road was closed due to a blizzard. Several flights were cancelled, but mine was just an hour delayed giving me just enough time to make my next plane in Chicago.

On the flight from Chicago to London, I had a whole row to myself. The young man in the row in front of me made a comment about it being too good to be true. The stewardess told us that the flights never have that much room on them.

In the end, it ended up being too good to be true. We had a mechanical problem and spent an hour in the plane waiting for new parts to be installed in the plane. 

I was enjoying a nice, sprawled-across-five-seats nap when the captain announced that we had another mechanical problem over Nova Scotia and that we would be diverting to New York's JFK airport. The flight was cancelled, and at 4:20 a.m. EST, we were de-boarding the plane, retrieving our luggage and standing in this very long line to get rebooked. 

I ended up at almost the complete end of the line. The line was moving a couple feet an hour, so I made friends with the people in front and in back of me. The man from Jordan in front of me would point to his luggage, smile and say, "five minutes." I would smile and watch his luggage until he came back.

A family traveling to Ghana was behind me, and I watched their bags as well and put their little girl Bless on my luggage cart to give them a break.

After a long four-and-a-half hours in line, I finally got rebooked. I only broke down once when all of the rebooking agents went on break when there were only two of us left in line. I had no way of communicating with the team here, and by the time I got new flights, it was almost the time that I was supposed to be arriving in Toulouse.

I ended up borrowing the rebooking agent's cell phone to call my mom to email my team leader my new itinerary.

I had barely enough time to catch my second flight to London. For four hours of flying east, it only chopped an hour off the flight time, so I had another almost seven-hour flight. This photo encompasses how I felt after the day's drama. 

I ended up talking to the man next to me for most of the flight, which was helpful for staying awake. He knew I was a missionary, so we had a lot of interesting conversation about reasons to believe in God, religion and Jesus. He was a Catholic who believed strongly in the existence of God but thought that Jesus was the best way but not the only way. I was not thankful for all of the flight delays, but I was thankful for the opportunities I had to discuss truth with him.

I ended up having to get a hotel in London. One of the wait staff at the hotel restaurant found out I was a missionary and asked me lots of questions about the Bible and Jesus -- Was Jesus the Messiah? Why don't I eat pork? Why don't I follow the law? How many books were in my Bible?

He was reading the Torah, Koran and Bible. He told me that he followed the Bible but that his family background was different. I'm not sure where he stands spiritually but was again thankful for the opportunity to share my faith (even in my jet-lagged state).

My Ghanian friends (above and to the left) ended up on the same flight and at the same hotel as me, they overheard my conversation with the wait staff and were so excited that I was a Christian and a missionary. We ate dinner together, and after all we had been through, it felt like we were family. They were going to invite me to Ghana if I wasn't already going to France. I gave them my prayer card, and Cynthia (pictured above) said she would keep in touch. God was definitely taking care of me on my journey.

A day later I made it to France and was in meetings and running around town for almost all day (a great way to fight jet-lag). Here is one of the views out of the windows of our apartment. 

Thanks for praying me to France (and reading this long blog post)! I'll continue to post updates as I adjust to life here.

Thank you for everyone who was praying for my visa! I received it LAST Friday, just days after I applied at the Consulate (it usually takes two weeks or more to process). Praise God!

I was elated to get it in the mail so quickly and not have to worry about changing my flights. Since then the anticipation of going to France has been building.

My church Salem is commissioning me during the worship services tomorrow (Feb. 10) and next Sunday (Feb. 17). Details are listed at the bottom of this post.

After the 10:30 a.m. service on Feb. 18, there will be a gratitude gathering of crepes in the fellowship hall. I hope you can join in sending me at one of these three events.

I went to the French consulate in Chicago for my visa appointment on Monday. The days leading up to my appointment were filled with the stress of tracking down letters from France, having my parents mail a letter that got sent to their address, getting documents notarized, buying a prepaid Express mail envelope, making copies and putting everything I might possibly need in a huge accordion file. It was just a little bit stressful (well, that might be an understatement).

My appointment ended up being only about 10 minutes long. I turned in my papers, answered some questions, had digital fingerprints done, paid taxes and an application fee and had my picture taken. Now, I am just waiting for my visa to come. Thank you for all of you who were praying and please continue to pray that my visa would be processed quickly!

Even though I was on a "business" trip, I got to have some fun along the way, visiting friends in Chicago and Minneapolis.

Here are some photo highlights: