the changing of seasons

Well, hello, July 28. I quite like anniversaries, and today is one. It’s one month since I left Paris. I crept out of a quiet apartment before dawn on June 28th, slid out of France on a train, glided out of Europe on a jet plane, and found America, resplendent in her rocking chairs, friendly service, and soft bodies ready for hugs. 

Many people, myself included, have been concerned about my transition. While for most of us, it seems completely normal and right for me to be here, I’m lucky to have good friends who care how I’m feeling and how the second giant change in a year is affecting me. 

Blanket response: “I’m glad to be here.” 

There’s something funny about these short-lived experiences abroad. When I’ve come home from stints in France, I’m often asked to compare what I think of as “my two countries”—a natural question, I guess, but one that also breeds a sort of anxiety in me. Why? I end up feeling like I have to choose one or the other. You’d think that somewhere, I hide a checklist of what I like best in each place. I don’t. 

“It’s not better; it’s just different:” the slogan thrown around by the exchange agency I went to France with at 18. It’s a phrase that gently changes your paradigm away from comparisons that can lead to anger, frustration, and bitterness—not just with your host culture, but also with your culture of origin. 

These days, I still agree with this point of view. But this time around, I don’t feel that pressure. I’ve been working to eradicate that dualistic view from my mindset. On the other hand, there’s a larger principle that is at play here. 

 It has to do with seasons. Go figure: being back in Kansas City, I’m also back to gardening, back to the land. Staying at the house where I’d lived and gardened before moving to Paris, I get to once again enjoy the fruits of this plot of dirt. Luscious tomatoes, crisp greens, fragrant herbs are all a few footsteps out the back door and totally abundant. There’s all I could want of them. Similarly, a trip to the farmer’s market proved that oodles of peaches and more pounds of watermelon than I could carry are affordable enough to eat to my heart’s content. 

 In the middle of this process, I started reading Animal, Vegetable, Miracle by Barbara Kingsolver (READ IT). In essence, she shares about how her family chose to eat only off their own land and from farmers they knew for one year. She has beautiful and hilarious insights into, well, everything. I’m keeping notes. The thing that caught me today was this. She’s talking about the importance, and the ultimate tastiness, of eating food that’s in season, namely watermelon. I quote: 

 “But it’s actually possible to wait, celebrating each season when it comes, not fretting about its being absent at all other times because something else good is at hand.” 

So true, about watermelon, tomatoes, and the like. They’re better fresh, in season than out of season. Delightful. Sublime. They are worth waiting for to eat in their prime. 

Then I thought about life. One thing I’m proud of is that I lived those 10 months in Paris like there was no tomorrow. In relationship and in adventure, I savored that city, that country. It wasn’t always easy, but I tried to live it for all it was worth. 

Then I came home. What do these months in Kansas City look like? In a nutshell, simplicity: work, learning, teaching, and being a friend. I’m also skin-on-skin with Kansas City in a way I’ve never been, now that I’m getting around on foot or on bike in this sprawling mess of a city. My prayer is that I would love and engage with Kansas City as well as or better than I did Paris. I’m loving the re-discovery of its smells, its heady humidity, and the textures of crumbling asphalt and dry-crackling grass. With loving looks at sherbet sunsets and awkward interactions with the population around me, I’m celebrating this place and the season that has me here. Waiting those months to come home to Kansas City and the people I love here has made it sweeter to me than it has ever been before. 

Being away has freed me, somehow, to truly love. On the other hand, as I fast from France, I learn to love her more deeply as well, and her absence from me is making my heart fonder for her and her people. And so I find myself in the trial towards contentment. I love what is before me in all its splendor, knowing the next season will hold something different, but equally delicious.

Merci

 Mes amis, 

Je vous écris de Kansas City, de la maison où j’habitais avant de partir. Depuis quatre jours, je retrouve ma famille, mes amis les plus proches, le jardin qui avait été à moi, tout dans l’été chaud et fructueux du Midwest américain. 

Et je pense à vous. Quel cadeau de pouvoir partir, de devoir partager et résumer ces 10 mois (même pas) passes à Paris! Je me rends encore plus compte à quel point c’était bon, riche, nourrissant, redempteur, surprenant, et beau. Je suis remplie de gratitude envers Dieu et envers vous, parce que vous étiez ses outils guisés et tranchants pour faire des choses merveilleuses. 

Pour ceux qui étaient à ma fête d’’à bientôt,” j’avais partagé mon histoire avec la France, qui est une bonne petite histoire qui prend du temps à raconter. Ce n’est pas trop la peine de la dire ici. Pourtant, je sens que je dois insister sur les remerciements. 

Merci de m’avoir accueillie dans vos maisons, dans vos cafés préférés, et dans les endroits que vous aimez partout dans Paris. Avec vous, j’ai découvert Paris comme elle est en vérité--et donc j'ai pu l'aimer en vérité aussi. Maintenant je change les perceptions de Paris qu’ont la majorité des gens avec qui je parle. Ils me demandent si c’était dur et froid; je dis non, au contraire, c’était ouvert et chaleureux, et j’ai connu beaucoup d’amour. 

Merci d’avoir été généreux. Certains m’ont invité à manger, à boire un café. D’autres m’ont offert des petits cadeaux opportuns ou même m’ont passé une enveloppe avec du liquide dedans pour me bénir ou m’encourager. A chaque fois, je me sentais vue, apprécié, et affermie dans ma place et mon appel pour la France. Ensemble, vous avez contribué aux cadeaux choisis pour me dire au revoir. C’est fort de faire ça. 

Merci d’avoir prié pour moi et de m’avoir encouragé et défié. En faisant cela, vous vous êtes joignés à moi, m’ont donné beaucoup de sens et de valeur. 

Merci également de m’avoir donné de la place dans vos vies, de m’avoir partagé des choses profondes, des réflexions ou des questions que vous vous posez. Souvent, quand je discutais avec vous, je réalisais dans le moment que c’était un vrai privilège d’être permise dans vos vies personnelles et, parfois, de lutter ou de travailler à vos côtés. En plus, c’était tellement fun ! 

Vous êtes des trésors, et je suis si contente de faire partie de vous. 

Très sincèrement, 

Maggie 

My friends, 

I write you from Kansas City, from the house where I lived before I left. For four days, I’ve been seeing my family, my closest friends, the garden that had been mine, all in the hot, fruitful Midwestern summer. 

And I’ve been thinking of you. What a gift to leave, to have to share and summarize these (not even) 10 months spent in Paris! I realize even more how good, rich, nourishing, redemptive, surprising, and beautiful it was. I’m filler with gratitude towards God and towards you, because you were his sharp and piercing tools for doing wonderful things in me. 

For those who were at my goodbye party, I shared my story with France, which is a good little story that takes time to tell. It’s not worth it to share it here. Still, I feel like I must insist on the thank yous. 

Thank you for welcoming me in your homes, your favorite cafés, and in the places you love all over Paris. With you, I discovered Paris like she really is--and therefore love her as she really is. Now I’m changing the ideas of Paris that the majority of people I talk to have. They ask me if it was cold or hard; I say no, on the contrary, it was open and warm, and I knew lots of love there. 

Thank you for being generous. Some of you took me out to eat or for coffee. Others gave me little gifts at the right moment, or even passed my an envelope with cash inside to bless me or encourage me. Each time, I felt seen, appreciated, and affirmed in my place and my call for France. Together, you contributed to gifts chosen to say goodbye to me. It’s powerful to do that. 

 Thank you for praying for me, encouraging and challenging me. In doing so, you joined yourselves to me, and gave me lots of meaning and value. 

Thank you also to have given me a place in your lives, to have shared with me deep things, reflections or questions you’re asking yourselves. Often, when I was talking with you, I realized in the moment that it was a true privilege to be allowed into your personal lives, and, sometimes, to fight or to work at your sides. And, it was so fun! 

You are treasures, and I am so very glad to be a part of you. 

Very sincerely, 

Maggie