Pérouges : one of the prettiest towns in France

Last summer, during my stay in France, Melissa and Joel took me to Pérouges, which is considered to be one of the prettiest little towns in the country. It is a medieval walled city from the 1100's.

  

  

  

(Yes, people still live here. Seeing a car drive down the road rather dampened the whole "I've been sent back in time" vibe.)

  

I got to sneak some pictures of Melissa and Joel. Aren't they cute?! :) 

   

Joel patiently put up with all of my ridiculous antics...such as...

...doing "the dab" on a random log...

 ...taking our traditional family Birkenstock photo... 

 (Our shoes were still muddy from standing in the rain during the World Cup--which France won, by the way!)

...jumping in the middle of the street to show off his excitement for touring quaint villages...

...hardcore parkour-ing along the streets and making other such highly-entertaining videos with his sister-in-law...

 Oh, the memories that were made! :) Right, Joel?

Pérouges is also famous for its Galette de Pérouges--a sweet dessert whose recipe dates back to 1912--which, when you're in a town from the 12th century, the early 1900's does not seem that old. Still, we had to try one. After finding our way to the village square, we sat down and enjoyed our galette and coffee. 

  

The courtyard was lovely. 

Fun fact: this tree was planted during the French Revolution in 1792. 

Another fun fact: I love old French doors and Melissa endured countless photo stops all summer long just so I could take pictures of them. 

"But Melissa, they're all so different!"

 Windows are pretty great, too.

 Maybe it's because the French always have gorgeous fresh flowers in their window sills. 

A few more pics just because it really is one of the prettiest towns you'll ever visit. 

What a fun day of memories.

Oh, and I learned how to drive stick. And by "learned" I mean Joel gave me a few lessons and I didn't hit a single object or person. I call that success. 

Red Rain

Like beans in a pie pan. That’s what it sounds like. No warning. Deafening. Andrew and I head to the porch to watch. Rain! Finally! Pouring. Pounding. Drenching. It lightens to a steady even shower, cleansing the air and leaves. We grab our flip-flops (Mom said to wear shoes) and run out the gate. It tastes dirty and feels gritty, but it’s soft and wet and cool. The road is already becoming a river—the red dirt turning into opportunities for navy expeditions, treasure hunts, and all sorts of adventures at sea!

“Wait, let’s get Little Andrew to join us!” hollers Andrew as he climbs over our neighbor’s wall. He’s soon back with our tiny towhead neighbor—Andrew VanIngen—and I realize I’ve just been demoted from first mate. “Let’s go! It’s raining!” shouts my brother, the Captain. “Follow the stream!” orders the Dutchman.

The water, to our ankles, pushes black plastic bags, empty Fanyogo packets, and all other forms of trash past us. “Do you ever wonder what we might be walking in?” asks the Dutchman. “Don’t think about it,” says the Captain. A sandal floats past—the cheap plastic kind sold all over the market. “Let’s follow it! I’m sure it will lead us to our treasure!” shouts the Captain. “Aye aye captain!” the Dutchman yells.

We follow. The rain continues. A man pedals furiously by on his bicycle. A taximan honks and hollers as he splashes his way around us—his cab holding enough people and produce to have a market inside. Onward we go. We pass the boutique where we buy our baguette in the morning. No one is there except the man with the cigarette who owns the place. He watches from the open doorway. The sandal, bobbing and drifting through the street, leads us on.

The walled houses with gates break into smaller courtyards with one or two small square huts. No one is outside. A girl with a baby on her back runs into a courtyard further down the road. My flip-flop gets stuck and in trying to pull it up, the strap breaks. I take both shoes off and send them floating down the river like two green sailboats about to get lost in the red sea. “Lindsay, come on!”

I catch up to the boys just in time to see our treasure map disappear into the ravine. We’d reached the end of the road. Trudging back, empty handed, it is still raining. The road-river is deeper. Thicker. So much mud.  The Captain throws some on the Dutchman who retaliates. The rain runs the dirt down their head, arms, and legs in red streaks. We approach the courtyard that the girl and baby walked into. Inside is a pond melting the lines of wall, brick, and clay.

“I feel sorry for the people who live here,” the Captain says.

“Why?” I ask, squishing my toes in the warm wet earth.

“What do you think happens to a mud house when it rains?”

Searching for Joy in the Story

Do you ever look around and marvel at all the happy carefree people you see when your own life feels laden with cares or sorrows? Do you ever feel surrounded by people who are skipping through life while you are trudging through what seems like an endless wilderness? Do you ever watch others move on from one stage of life to another and feel burdened by the constant weariness of waiting? Maybe it was being in France and seeing young beautiful couples enjoying life and romance and friendship. Maybe it was receiving yet another wedding invitation and then two more baby shower invitations all on the same day. Maybe it was watching friends begin new careers or advance in the ones they have. Whatever it was, I began to ask myself the questions: What have I to look forward to? Where is the joy promised by my Heavenly Father? The answer came in my study of prayer.

This summer, I had the chance to read Paul E Miller's book, A Praying Life. Fantastic book. The writing is honest, vulnerable, insightful, and based on Scripture. It reads quickly (unless you stop to write down dozens of quotes, like me) and Miller's explication of Psalm 23 is profound. I picked the book up with the hope it would give some new direction for my personal prayer life and also for my ladies prayer group. I expected to learn about prayer, but I did not expect to learn so much about the state of my heart. 

The more we pray, the more we see the hand of God at work in our own hearts and in the hearts of the people around us. "What do I lose when I have a praying life? Control. Independence. What do I gain? Friendship with God. A quiet heart. The living work of God in the hearts of those I love. The ability to roll back the tide of evil. Essentially, I lose my kingdom and get his" (125-26). 

The more purposeful and specific we are in our prayers, the more alert and mindful we will be to how God works. Mark 14:38 says, "Keep watching and praying that you may not come into temptation." Along with prayer, there must be an active awareness. "Don't pray in a fog. Pray with your eyes open. Look for the patterns God is weaving in your life" (243). 

"You will make known to me the path of life; In Your presence is fullness of joy; In Your right hand there are pleasures forever." (Psalm 16:11) How can I be in His presence? Through prayer. Miller says, "Prayer is a moment of incarnation--God with us. God involved in the details of my life" (125). The more I pray, the more I am in God's presence, and thus, the greater the joy. Indeed, fullness of joy is promised! This is why Jesus promises His joy to those who abide in Him (John 15:11). Abiding in Christ is communing with God. Miller says "The praying life is the abiding life" (138). I would add, the abiding life is the joy-filled life. 

"I have set the LORD continually before me; Because He is at my right hand, I will not be shaken." (Psalm 16:8) I cannot set my eyes on earthly pleasures for they are but fleeting hopes. The moment I begin to look around me, I, like Peter, begin to sink--drowning in the fear and hopelessness of my surroundings and my own helplessness. But, if my eyes are fixed on Jesus Christ, the raging waters become solid ground. The miracle happens. Watch for those miracles and life will never be boring.

"What is at stake here is developing an eye for the Shepherd. I need to tune in to my Father's voice above the noise of my own heart and the surrounding world--what C.S. Lewis called 'the Kingdom of Noise.' I need to develop a poet's eye that can see the patterns in my Father's good creation. Like a good storyteller, I need to pick up the cadence and heartbeat of the Divine Storyteller" (243). 

From reading this book, and ultimately through the Holy Spirit's working, I realized that my current lack of joy and excitement in life is a result of lack of purposeful watchful frequent prayer. In searching for a great story, I have been looking around me and sinking, rather than fixing my eyes on the Author and Perfecter of my faith (Heb 12:2) and resting in His power and ability. 

This coming week-end, I will be joining several other young women for 24 hours to retreat from the busyness of life and refresh ourselves in God's Word. A bulk of our time will be spent in prayer--together and alone. Many of us have lost sight of story the Shepherd is weaving in this present world. From an earthly standpoint, it often seems as though we have nothing of great consequence to which to look forward. When we lose sight of the Shepherd we experience the restlessness and drudgery that come for lack of joy. Therefore, we must pray. For there, in His presence alone, we will find joy. The more we pray the more we will see the Lord turning the ordinary into the extraordinary, and that, my friend, is exciting to watch. 

--For those of you who attend Flint Hills Bible Church, A Praying Life is available in the Resource Center. 

Provence Day 3: Aix-en-Provence

For our last day in Provence, Melissa and I drove a bit further south to Aix-en-Provence--a charming city famous for its fountains and for being the birthplace of Paul Cézanne. 

We actually arrived in time for the outdoor market, having learned from our previous mistake in Sault, and visited two vendors before we had to go back to the car to drop off our purchases! 

How fun to smell and to see all the local tastes, colors, and flavors of the region. Fruits, meats, jams, cheeses, breads, flowers, spices, herbs, veggies, and of course, always lots and lots of olives.

In true southern fashion, the buildings in Aix-en-Provence were bright and colorful. With the majority of them being yellow, I was one happy explorer! 

With the streets so narrow and curvy, the lighting was never consistent enough for great pictures. Not to mention, large parts of the city were undergoing major construction which majorly detracted from the appealing aesthetics. We did the best we could and enjoyed the new sights, regardless. 

Don't I have a beautiful sister?

We found more cool doors, and just to give you an idea of how big these things are, Melissa's thumb served as a great model. Her child will have fabulous phalanges! Hello future thumb models! 

"Scrooge, having his key in the lock of the door, saw in the knocker, without its undergoing any intermediate process of change—not a knocker, but Marley's face" (Dickens, A Christmas Carol). 

I kept expecting this one to suddenly morph into reality as I hear the words, "Aslan is on the move!"

We stumbled upon an award-winning dessert artisan, where even the printed name on top of the dessert was edible chocolate.

Of course, any place that wants good business during the World Cup knows to put up giant screens for its customers.

We couldn't leave without a little postcard writing stop at a café. (This was also the only way we had access to bathrooms!)