Foreign languages make me happy

What if speaking another language was more than just an occasional, brief diversion? What if it was my everyday?

My "work best friend" and I started a new workplace diversion activity today: "language phrase of the day." It will involve me writing a phrase in a foreign language on a post-it note with its English equivalent. We'll probably stick with Italian and French, but you never know what might pop into my head.

Which leads me here... I just find it so amazing that there are these little bits of strange languages hibernating in my brain. They lie dormant and peaceful for days or weeks until suddenly a single word or phrase will just leap up and into and out of my mouth. Well, sometimes I keep them in and try to make them stay quiet. But that often leads to more of their friends waking up and throwing a foreign language party in my head. It can be very distracting.

I digress.



"Jambo Kenya!"


I had the privilege of studying French in school in the US and practicing it in Guadeloupe and Canada and France. Studying and speaking Italian in Italy. Studying and attempting to speak Khmer in Cambodia. Learning and practicing bits of Hungarian in Hungary. Spanish in Nicaragua. German in Germany. Hindi in India. Thai in Thailand. Swahili in Kenya... Whenever I'm in a place where they speak something other than English, I want to participate! I. Love. Languages.

I feel kind of guilty when someone asks me if I'm fluent in French. I studied it for so many years; I should be, right? Unfortunately, when you don't use a second or third language on a regular basis it goes to that hibernating place in the language center of the brain. And it gets lazy. Well, it's probably a mutual thing. I have to practice if I want to retain any sort of fluency, any sort of ease of conversation. I find that it's almost always easier to understand someone speaking in French or Italian, but I struggle to create a response that isn't full of poor conjugation and weak pronunciation. Nonetheless, I try my best to just jump right in and engage in conversation and hope that some of those phrases and words (that come to mind so easily when I don't need them) will help me when I really need them.

Just a few weeks ago I had a "red letter day" that started when I diverged from my daily routine. (Sometimes I need to mix things up for a little adventure.) Instead of stopping at Starbucks on my way to work, I drove directly to my parking lot...and walked to the Starbucks on the Circle. I know. I am wild. I love working downtown and walking to get lunch or coffee is one of the reason I love it. Wide sidewalks. People bustling around, heading to work. Feeling connected to others.

That morning I noticed that the two men ordering their lattes before me at Starbucks were definitely not on their way to work in downtown Indianapolis. They were carrying backpacks. They had accents. And they spoke to each in French! I was then on a mission: I had to talk them before they left the cafe!

I was excited. But, then I was faced with a great challenge: What do I say??? French, French, French...Come on, brain! Think of something? How about..."Are you French?" Well, okay, that works. (Thankfully, it sounds so much better in French: "Vous êtes français?") He seemed pleasantly surprised by my question and was quite patient with me as we spoke in French for a few moments. I learned that he was traveling with his son and they were doing a tour of the U.S., passing through Indianapolis on their way to Chicago. So fun! I wished them a "Bon Voyage" and continued on to work, as they went to catch a bus. I couldn't stop smiling as I walked to my building. I'm sure some people that I passed must have wondered what I was so happy about on a Tuesday at 8 o'clock in the morning!

Whenever I get the chance to practice a foreign language (and wake up those phrases so comfortably hibernating in my head!), it always makes my day! Which makes me wonder…perhaps I should find a way to speak French (or Italian!) everyday? What if I had a job that allowed me every day to do something that makes me happy? I should probably look into that…

to market, to market

Voulez-vous aller à Paris avec moi? Who wouldn't want to go to Paris?!

A few weeks A couple of months ago (this post has been in draft mode for quite some time!) my friend Eve came downtown to join me for lunch. She picked me up and we drove over to the Indianapolis City Market. The Market has really grown and developed over the past several years. Almost all of the vendor areas are full, and selling everything from bug jewelry (Eve is a science teacher and commented that her students would think this was cool) to antique jewelry (that I can't wait to go back to and shop!) and lots and lots of yummy food!

Eve had a Groupon for a place called "3 Days in Paris"--a veritable crêperie! I first had a taste of their delicious crêpes last summer on a Wednesday--when the City Market vendors take to the street. I couldn't wait to go back! I had the "Black and Blue Moo" filled with roast beef, blue cheese, dried cranberries, spinach, and raspberry chipotle sauce. Yum.

It was one of those extra hot summer days (of which there has been an abundance this summer in Indiana), so we opted to stay inside to eat. We climbed the wrought iron stairs to the upper level that overlooks the vendors and found a little table for two next to the inside railing. It was open and spacious and just a bit noisy--perfect for "what's been going in your life for the past year" conversation. (Eve and I don't get to hang out often enough!) The market was busy with people on their lunch breaks, moms and kids meetings dads for lunch, police officers taking a break from policing--everyone together made it feel alive and fun...and good.

Since then, the City Market, and especially 3 Days in Paris, is my go-to place for lunch with friends from work. I could eat there everyday!

::

What exactly is a crêpe? I'm so glad you asked?

[A crêpe (English pronunciation: /ˈkrɛp/,[1] French: [kʁɛp]) is a type of very thin pancake, usually made from wheat flour. The word is of French origin, deriving from the Latin crispa, meaning "curled." While crêpes originate from Brittany, a region in the northwest of France, their consumption is widespread in France and they are considered a national dish. In Brittany, crêpes are traditionally served with cider. Crêpes are served with a variety of fillings, from the most simple with only sugar to flambéed crêpes Suzette or elaborate savoury fillings.]
Thank you, Wikipedia.



Today I met a homeless man

He was sitting on a wrought iron fence along Washington Street, shaking his plastic cup holding of a small pile of coins he had collected today. He asked for change, which I gave him. Then, I stopped to talk to him. His name is Willie. He is from Little Rock, Arkansas. He came to Indianapolis to find a job as a machinist, but couldn't find work. He stayed at Wheeler Mission for awhile. Willie met a man who receives mail for him, mostly from his mother in Arkansas. He showed me the envelope of one that he just got today. (He wanted to prove that he wasn't telling stories.)

Then we started talking about food. I asked him if would like some lunch. He said that he would--a hambuger and fries would be nice. Since Panera was the closest place for lunch, I suggested some soup. He said he would like potato soup--and a ham sandwhich. A minute later I found myself in line at Panera (where I often go for lunch) buying lunch for a homeless man (which I had never done before). I held back tears as I scanned the menu for potato soup and a ham sandwhich. I placed my order as anyone else--substituing wheat bread for rye (would Willie like rye? I don't.) and selecting broccoli cheddar (my personal favorite) as potato soup was not on the menu today. I took the meal out to Willie and he was very thankful. He was persistant in telling me that he wasn't a scammer, he was a hard worker, and he really needed some more money so he could could get cleaned up somewhere and stay some more nights at Wheeler. I asked him if knew Jesus, if he had given his life to Christ. He said that he'd heard about Him. I told him that the truth about Jesus was more valuable than money and shared the gospel with him. I felt compelled to give him some more money--trusting that Willie would keep his word and, more importantly, knowing that my money is really on loan from God. I told Willie that I would pray for him and when he asked me to really do it, to really pray for him, I asked if I could pray right then. So, I stood next Willie outside IRT on Washington St and I prayed for him and I prayed for me--that God would keep teaching me what it means to trust him and care for those around me as Jesus would. Willie shook my hand and I said goodbye, praying more for him as I walked down the street.

Why has is taken me so many months to buy lunch for a hungry person I've seen on the street? Working downtown has allowed me to encounter so many homeless people and others asking for money from the workers and shoppers who busily pass by. I talked to Willie about why poeple so often just walk along without giving money or saying anything to him. My answer reflected my own experience--that being one of uncertainty, of fear, and of worrying that the money given may not be put to good use. For years I have been distanced from the povery of my own city. Growing up on the northside of Indy it was not difficult to avoid eye contact with the few people holding cardboard signs near the interstate ramps. Homelessness was not as visible and it wasn't something that I really wanted to think about.

I do struggle with knowing the best way respond to poverty and homelessness. There are books that are on my list to read (like When Helping Hurts by Steve Corbett and Brian Fikkert) that would probably help me understand the issues better and figure out what role I may play. As I reflect on my lunch break adventure and my friend Willie I am reminded that just a year or two ago I would have said that I didn't really feel passionate about domestic poverty. Not surprisingly, working a year downtown and reengaging with my home city has changed that. I am praying about how I might adjust my ministry involvement over the next year in order to actively engage in alleviately poverty and sharing Christ's love to those less fortunately than me in my own city.

I know that lunch and $20 is not going to get Willie out of homelessness, but I do pray that he would know that God cares for him and is the ultimate source of lastly hope and life. If you have any stories or thoughts on how to help the homeless and those begging on the streets, please share. I have so much to learn...