Comme Un Petit Oiseau

We finished our first transfer--the first six weeks of the mission-- this week, and then my trainer Soeur Pfost got moved to Bordeaux, and now I'm with Soeur Witt. Let's talk about this for a second, because it is more or less the happiest thing that I could have imagined. Soeur Witt and I were in the MTC together. There, we said to each other that we would pray our whole missions to get to be companions. Voila. Second transfer, we are companions. Tender mercies.

Now let's talk about a few implications of this change:

Soeur Witt was a ballerina. She likes doing things like yoga and slow jogging.

She does all different kinds of painting, brought her SLR camera on her mission, loves art museums, France, and eating strawberries. Her favorite free time activity is going to old bookstores and vintage clothing shops.

And her favorite food is salad.

None of these things we knew about each other in the MTC. We just had a feeling we'd be 'amis du coeur.'

You know what this means? That this is going to be the best transfer of my life! We already have a million ideas for how to bring the things we love into our missionary lives. We got on the train together on our way to Bayonne and then preceded to talk nonstop for the next 2 hours about all our goals for how to bring the ward closer together, how to use our love of art to begin conversations and friendships with people, how to learn French faster and more lovelily, how to attract all the world to the joy we feel in living the Gospel, how to soak up more of the fact that we're living in FRANCE for Pete's Sake yeah! etc. etc. I woke up this morning comme un petit oiseau.

Oh and one other implication: Soeur Witt has been on her mission as long as I have, which means neither of us speak French. Which means everyday we get to witness miracles of God helping us speak. Yesterday when we were on the train back from Bordeaux, I started talking to this man across from us, and I don't know where it came from, but suddenly my brain stopped fussing and fighting and my mouth just started talking openly and freely, in French. I told him about the Restoration and about prophets and the Book of Mormon and priesthood authority. I got off the train and said to Soeur Witt, "I had no idea I knew that much French." And then of course I try to have a normal conversation with someone in a shop and can barely say anything. Interesting how that works. 

Our mantra for the transfer is Moroni 7:33. I love the clause at the end: whatsoever thing is expedient in me. That means that though our French and missionary skills are so tiny, they will be enough to do the things that are necessary for us to do here.

A few highlights:

1. I ate mussels this week for the first time. We were at a member's house, and she brought out a heaping bowl of mussels (all bowls or plates or dishes in France heap. SO.MUCH.FOOD.), sets it down on the table, and immediately her 8 year old daughter starts in on them. Like they're graps, she starts pulling them out of the bowl, popping them in her mouth, sucking them off, and tossing them on her plate. I have never seen anything like it. By the end of the meal, her plate was then heaping with empty mussel shells. (Oh and I really liked them. I was a little nervous, but de.li.cious.)

2. For the last two weeks or so Soeur Pfost and I decided to sing Christmas carols every morning as part of our morning studies. Best decision of my life (other than serving a mission of course). So do not fear, the tradition of beginning to sing Christmas carols earlier and earlier each year is still going on. Last year it was June when I started, I believe. This year it's May. Huzzah and fa la la.

3. Will someone please go see Great Gatsby for me because the billboards for it are everywhere here and it's killing me.

4. I'm finding new ways to conduct Nutella to my mouth. For a while it was wheat toast. This week it's a spoon.

5. There are several phrases that I love that the French people say:

First, 'C'est pas grave.' The closest equivalent is something like 'No big deal' or something. They say for everything--if you drop something, if you can't make a decision at the patisserie, if you cancel an appointment. I'll have to make a list of the weird times they use it, the times when it really isn't necessary. I love this phrase because my brain translates it as 'It isn't grave.' Which makes it seem like it actually, probably is.

Second, 'C'est gentil.' This is what they say when you offer to help someone, or when you offer to share the gospel with them.
Third, 'C'est normal.' This is what they say when you say 'C'est gentil' for helping you. Again, my brain translates this as 'It's normal.' Which is a really funny thing to say about someone going out of their way to help you get your enormous suitcases off the train. No, sir, that isn't normal behavior. C'est gentil et chivalreux.

Fourth: comportement. I think it means demeanor or something. And it's also a wordin English, but one we don't use enough. Let's change that, shall we.
Fifth: chercher, which means to fetch. This is what people say about other people-- I have to fetch my daughter from school, let me go fetch my husband, etc. I should look up how to say "fetching" so I can tell all these people helping me with my suitcases and what not that their comportement is fetching.

Sixth: "Dit-moi." Tell me. As in "Tell me everything." People tack this on to greetings of friends all the time and I love it.

Cinderella Dressed in Yella (Bayonne, Week 5)

Last week I bought a jumprope. It is bright green. Every morning this week I have woken up super happy because I get to jump rope for the first 30 minutes of my day. I am really bad at it. But I am improving. This week, it took 135 doctors. (And yeah, I totally do "Cinderella Dressed in Yella" in my head. Every time. Six years old, me.)

I want to write about a lady out here that I'm getting to know. She brings joy everywhere she goes. She hugs people and shares beauty with them and love and whenever she walks in a room (no exaggeration here--I saw it at least three times in the last 2 days), people run to her and hug her and kiss her cheeks and giggle they are so happy to see her. I'm trying to learn from her how she does what she does--how she can make every person she comes across feel lighter and happier. She loves everyone, exactly as they are, and for some reason, they can feel that and it brings out the best in everyone. It brings out the child in everyone.

Today was our preparation day and we had lunch at a creperie just around the corner from the cathedral. There we were, in the middle of this cobblestone rue, and there was a breeze coming down way, and pigeons overhead, and the cathedral bells. We went inside the cathedral too for a moment, and I remembered that cathedrals have a beautiful smell--one that you really only find in cathedrals. Maybe it's the old wood pews and the cold stone and the maroon paint in the frescos...I stood in the doorway and just smelled it for a while, remembering the other cathedrals of a couple of summers ago.

On Winning Over the Bus Driver

We learned the secret to contacting this week. It is walking around with a cake. We had people stopping US to talk. Unless you've ever contacted in France you really have no idea how monumental a thing that is--usually we say bonjour, and they put up their hand and walk away. If we get past "bonjour" to say we have a message about Jesus Christ, they usually start laughing actually. Which I find totally delightful, and totally weird. And then they walk away. I'm still working on figuring this one out. At any rate, the cake was surprisingly MAGICAL. At one point, a bus driver actually pulled over in an intersection (I kid you not), opened the doors, and asked if he could have some. Winning hearts one baked good at a time.

Also I ate an old potato this week and threw up all night. (But alas did not get to see Jacob Marley.)

And I bought 4 baguettes from the corner bakery shop for our district meeting tomorrow, for which we'll wake up while it's still dark outside, walk to the train station, take a train to Pau, and meet with the other missionaries on this side of France.

(Baguettes? Corner bakery? Train stations? Is this real life?)

Also, I bought a yoga mat today for 3 euros and a jump rope for 7 (memories of 4th grade when the Drzayich boys won every jump rope competition in our elementary school) and I seriously couldn't be happier with these purchases. The simple joys of being a missionary.

Surprisingly, I got really homesick on Sunday. I'm gonna blame the fact that I hadn't slept the night before (courtesy of the potato) and hadn't eaten that day (courtesy of the food poisoning the potato gave me)--althought probably more what I should blame is a selfish, centro-seeking attitude. So I learned a few things about what to do in times of homesickness, loneliness, or fear COLON (can't find the colon on this dumb keyboard) VOILA found it:

1. The character of Christ is that when bad things happen, when he was hungry, when he was lonely, when he was in pain, what did he do? He looked around for someone else to comfort, to heal, or to uplift. Search the scriptures for these moments. They're all over the place.

I've heard it said that the best way to stop being depressed is to look around and find someone you can help. I've always had a hard time with this, because I mean...old ladies crossing crosswalks and neighbors with no oven and hence no ability to cook dinner can be hard to come by. Well this week I learned a little better what that means, this "helping" someone else. It means to make them smile! To make them feel needed, to be the first to say hello, the first to call and ask how they are doing, the first to reach out to hug them. It means helping people see their true nature, by saying kind things. It means helping people acheive a little more of the dreams they have for their lives. These things are easy.

2. And along with that, I'm learning what it means to be a good companion. Every week we have "companion inventory," as it's called, where we talk about each other's strengths and "how we could each improve." I'm just going to say it: companionship inventory is the LIVING WORST. Mostly because I spend the whole hour before worrying about which of my faults they're going to have honed in on this week. Bleh. (It should be noted, my companions are always super nice and have never yet said anything that was remotely hurtful, thank heavens.) Anyways, so this week instead of asking what I can do to improve, I asked how I can be a better companion to Soeur Pfost. Because let's face it, I'm all too aware of what I can do to improve, and I will tell you, there are beaucoup de beaucoup (a really lot) of ways. But that's not really what I want to know from her. I want to know what she'd like me to do to support her better. Maybe that's running faster in the mornings (Have I mentioned yet how she literally runs circles around me in the mornings? And yes, when I say literally, I do not mean figuratively. Learn the difference, world. Winky face. But seriously.), or maybe that means smiling more, or reminding her to bring her badge in the mornings, or I don't know what. But that's the point: the laundry list is looong of things I can do to be a better Carolyn, and I know most of those things, and am already neck-deep trying to get them taken care of. But what can I do to be a better companion? Now that's information I need.

3. And on that note about being supportive, I had the realization (most likely mid-grumble in my mind when my companion wanted to do something I didn't really want to) that being supportive means working with, not against someone. It means taking their goals and desires as your own and trying to do everything in your power to get that thing to happen! Yes, these are elementary school lessons. Yes I am still learning. But isn't that a beautiful thing: that life is long and our natures can change.

In other news, I graduated this week. I think. I bought a celebratory religieuse at the patisserie shop today. Google that. It is a round chocolate eclair with cold chocolate mousse inside and thick chocolate glaze on the top, a dollop of chantilly (whipped cream, but chatilly is such a pretty word and I will heretofore use only it without the translation so remember), then a baby chocolate eclair on the tip top. Sorry that all I want to do is talk about food. I love it okay.

And on the note of things I love, here are some things I don't love:

forgetting my train ticket one day.

forgetting my missionary name badge another day.

Yeah, I'm still learning how to be a missionary.

PS: JM Dreher, email me so I can email you.

carolyn.carter [AT] myldsmail.net

An Organ is not a Piano

So there's this phrase in French: J'ai malcompris. It means 'I have misunderstood.' My companion uses it sometimes, and every time, I think, 'Man, that is a cool way to say that! I've gotta remember that and start using it!' (Let's be real, I'd have like a bazillion opportunities to use it everyday.) This week, though, I got the chance to really use it. It goes like this: last week, a lady in the ward came up to me after church, and from what I understood, she was going to be gone the next week, and asked me if I could I play the piano for the hymns in sacrament meeting. Not a problem. She asked if I needed to know which ones we'd be singing beforehand so I could practice, or if I could just play them on the spot. Yeah, on the spot. Because I'm awesome (aka: I have an overinflated ego.)

Ahem.

So I show up to church on Sunday and they're all 'Where's Soeur Carter? Oh thank goodness you're here, you're playing the hymns in sacrament right?' And I'm all, 'Yeah, I got this.' You know, proud that I can at least contribute in some way to this ward. Maybe I can't speak French, but everyone speaks the language of music, blah blah blah. So I prance over to the piano. Which is when I see that it isn't a piano at all...but an organ.

So there are a few key differences between a piano and an organ, the first of which being that a piano has 88 keys and an organ has 20 billion. Oh and also the two keyboard thing. Oh and also the 50 pedals thing. Oh and also the fact that I have no idea where the sustaining pedal is and my hands are shaking so bad that the music is shaking too because I keep releasing then rehitting notes. Bahahaha, worst and best. Afterwards, the ward member who we work the closest with in our miussionary work, who also happens to be a professor of violin performance out here came up and said, 'Bravo Soeur Carter! You have learned how to play a new instrument in five minutes!' Hahaha, oh wow. In short: 'J'ai malcompris. I thought you asked me to play the piano, not the organ! 

Bayonne is lovely. Still. We run every morning over bridges and down to the river, and past a house that some mornings smells like warm baguettes and some mornings smells like the huge purple lilac bush draped over its fences. I eat toast every morning, sometimes with Nutells, sometimes Speculoos, sometimes butter and strawberry jam, and always with a little tub of yogurt. (The French people are apparently very serious about their yogurt: the grocery store where we shop has--no exaggeration--two entire aisles of yogurt, on both sides.)

We spend four hours studying every morning, and some mornings our apartment is unusually freezing, so I wrap myself in my white down comforter aforementioned, and am completely and utterly happy. We spend a few hours everyday talking to strangers, trying to make them smile, asking them if they'd like to learn about God, teaching them who Heavenly Father is and that He put us here on this earth to learn and become like Him.

We eat a big lunch, usually a baguette sandwich, sometimes an omelet. Nutella usually figures in there somewhere as well. In the evenings we sometimes have teaching appointments, which are my favorite times. This last week a family in the ward invited us over to eat and I had my first real French dinner--four courses! We ate shredded carrots and cucumbers with a simple balsamic vinaigrette, then a gateau de maiz from Chile that had beef and chicken and raisins and cheese and it was sweet and warm. Then the 8-yr old daughter went to the fridge and came back with her arms full of different cheeses, and the mom put a baguette and a steaming loaf of wheat bread on the table. I didn't know what to do, so another of the dinner guests cut me off a huge chunk of cheese (we're talking as big as a regular carrot) and we all sat around eating cheese and hot bread. And then the cakes--a banana bread cakes and a whipped cream and raspberry cake--chantilly et framboise. It was cool and fizzy and had little crystals of sugar all coating the outside. Soeur Pfost and I went home so so happy that night.

I am picking up more of the language. I can follow conversations a little better now...except for yesterday when the best I could make of what one lady was telling me was that because of her first mustache, she helped decapitated persons, and then something about mayonnaise...  (In other words, I've still got a ways to go.)

We're teaching a lot and learning a lot and all's well this side of the ocean.

Slow down, you crazy child. (Bayonne, France: Week 2)

So I come to France, guns all ablaze, ready to talk to people and teach people and be courageous and so on. Then this funny thing happened where I realized I cannot communicate with a single person. In the MTC, they really emphasized the importance of talking to every. single. person. And I took that to heart. But after a week of really badly bungled conversations and wearing myself thin trying to be the missionary I want to be in a year and a half, immediately, right now, from the beginning, I realized the following: perfection is a process! It takes many many moons and sometimes in life, it is the time simply to watch and learn. I think in my mission, that time is now. In short, I realized this week that I don't have to know how to do everything right now. Right now my job is to learn the language, to love people as best I can, and to smile.

My companion and I have been learning a lot about talking to people on the streets as well. Here is what we've learned: as soon as you say the word missionary, they say, "I don't have time" and walk away. This is understandable, considering we're strangers, and there are lots of weird people out there. So we've tried things like, "We teach that God has a plan for your life." Sometimes people nod and go along with it and let us explain a little more... more often they say, "That's nice. I respect all religions. Au revoir." and walk away. The best reactions this week though were when we went up to three adults by a park and asked if they'd like to hear more about the plan God has for their lives and for their families. They said, and I quote, "We don't have time. We're talking about football." And then there was the guy at the bus stop that rejected my offer to learn more, so I, being persistent and everything (I hate being persistent bleh) was like, "Maybe I can just leave you with our card, in case someday you are interested in learning more" to which he replied, "No really, I don't even do sports teams!" Hahahaha, me either, dude, me either.

I realize everyday how badly people just wanna feel loved. So instead of trying to push our message so quickly on everyone, for fear they'll walk away, we're asking them questions, about what they believe, about why they believe that, about what their life is like. We're joking around with people and complimenting them, and if nothing else, making them smile.

Also, since a lot of people think we're part of some crazy sect, I've busted out the hot pink lipstick this week. Amazing how a little lipstick can make people think maybe, just maybe, you are normal. Sheesh :)

P.S. Did I mention I live 10 minutes from the beach? Cuz I do.

Le Bleu (Bayonne France, Week One)

Bonjour! I am here here here in France, finally! On our last day in the MTC, I counted and discovered that I spent exactly 40 days and 40 nights in that blessed place...funny, no? I loved being there, but 6 weeks is long enough, and by the time I left, I was ready to go.

The journey across that big ocean took a lot longer than expected. Our first flight-- the one from SLC to Chicago was delayed (of all the flights to be delayed), so the rest had to be rearranged as well. We finally got to Lyon though. THe mission president picked us up from the airport--all 19 of us!--and we all spent the night in a hotel downtown. We spent the next couple of days in the city, doing training and legality and getting all in order before we received our first assignments. Wednesday night we had dinner at the mission president's home, just outside of the city. To have that evening, where we were all gathered around telling stories and eating fajitas and laughing, right before we walk right into the darkness of having absolutely no idea what we're doing, was so so precious. I've already thought back on that night several times--on how comfortable and happy it was--in the moments when I feel completely uncomfortable.

So let's talk about the last few days though! Because the air in France is magic, my hair falls perfectly with me having to do anything to it, and thus I have decided to never do my hair again on my mission. Yep. Other things I love about France include the baguette sandwiches I'm eating every lunch, the sound of the language, the bridges and the trees and the old walls and buildings. All of it is incredible. So Thursday morning we got our first assignments. I'm serving in Bayonne, with Sister Pfost. All the other missinoaries said, 'You are SO LUCKY. Bayonne is a paradise!' And I'm like, not about to believe it until I see it, right? I mean I've seen some pretty things in my 26 years (annnnd also I didn't want to get my hopes up). So me with my skepticism and all my suitcases and my new (4'11'') companion got on a train and rode our way across the country. I have only one thing to say about that train ride:

If you are ever in France, take the train that runs from Lyon to Toulouse, on a cloudy day if you can help it. I didn't know places like this existed. There were castles and cathedrals in pockets all through the hills, and the fields are emerald green and the vineyards and orchards sit beside them, and the houses re white and weathered and their blue shutters and rust-tile-roofs are as at home in the landscape as the hilltops and groves they're nestled among.

When we got into Bayonne the next morning, an elderly couple came and picked us up from the train station. I say elderly, but they have more energy than most people I know! He speaks almost only English, and she speaks almost only French, but they are delightful and happy and made our first moments in Bayonne welcome. Bayonne is the last stop on the line, because it's nearly on the coast, so we had plently of time to get our bags in order before getting off. And then off to our apartment, where the couple left us with a bag of groceries--a couple of baguettes, a few oranges, some butter...and so we sat at our little kitchen table eating our baguettes and looking out our windows at the cathedral that's right by our apartment...

Our apartment is the corner apartment in a little white building on a hill overlooking the city. We have windows in every room that swing open wide, and we have a washer inside the apartment (!) and white down comforters and warm water and our kitchen window looks out onto the city, meaning onto the cathedral that is enormous and gorgeous and in the centre of the ville. (A note: They weren't lying about this being a beautiful place. Nearly constantly, we are stopping and saying 'Whooooa, look over there. Whooooa, look at that street. Whooa, look at that cool cemetery. Bayonne is the quintessential small French town.)

Now. As for the actual missionary work. Man alive this is hard. It's hard because I don't know the language and I don't know how to talk to people about this. So mostly I just smile and nod a lot. Which gets me into trouble sometimes, so I'm instead learning to say 'Je ne comprends pas' all the time.

We spent most of our weekend getting to know the area and the Church members here, and watching general conference of course! Everyone has been so kind...and has been, I think, really entertained by how little French I can speak. They especially got a kick out of how I was wearing all blue the day they met me...and how I happen to be 'the bleu' (the new missionary).

We're whitewashing this area (which means all the missionaries that have been working here left, so it's just us, trying to figure everything out on our own!), so this first week has been a lot of logistical work, in figuring out where things are, etc, but I'm excited for next week to start teaching and so on!

POSTSCRIPT: We can now email friends, as well as family! I mean postcards are still obviously the preferred form of communication, but I like emails too! You can email me at carolyn.carter (AT) myldsmail.net

POSTSCRIPT for NGar: FRANCH. FRANCH. FRANCH.

Les Missionnaires/Sœurs

Dear Missionary Family,

Here is a picture of your daughter extraordinaire and her new companion. Aren't they wonderful?

Sister Carters’ new trainer is Sister Pfost.

We are so pleased to have them serving with us. Thanks for your help and support.

Sister Jeppson
France Lyon Mission Secretary