So this morning I "assisted" a meeting of 5 people with one dream: to launch a cafe ministry from their church. I was collect at 9am and driven to the meeting to meet all these people, some for the first time, others to renew the connection. The church at Pontault has a beautiful multi-purpose room wherein they hope to begin a cafe credible to the general populus. Serving up coffee and other beverages, even a menu, music, art, social action events, lanugage classes- a group to attract unbelievers to a casual occasion to be familiarized with Christian culture. An incredible dream!


I managed to comprehend pretty well what was going on during the meeting, I was even included to the point of offering my questions, comments and opinions, dreams and experience in this sort of ministry. It was thoroughly enjoyable...except when I couldn't think of the vocab to properly describe what I wanted to say or nuance. The rough moment came for me at the end as we prayed together. Pray is a huge obstacle to me in that I feel crazy trying to communicate to God in a language other than the one I'm used to communicating with Him. And not only that, but that there are at least 3 native speakers of this language around me "agreeing" with me in my communication to our Savior. It came to me and I paused. I wanted to cry out in ways that they had and was tempted to do so- in English. Instead, I swallowed my pride and plunged into a grammatical trainwreck, a Picasso picture of my heart in French. I don't think I've ever attempted to climb such a mountain without at least some preparation, reflection and language skills.


When I learned french the first time we started praying simply with the "thank you God for..." over our group meals. I would begin to perspire like a madman everytime it came my turn to pray two phrases over those meals. With time, we studied the subjunctive and began to formulate more complex prayers to our God and I arrived at praying with more ease at the end of 10 months. This time though, I have been in France only a month and feel so totally unprepared to begin praying at the level I had been capable of 4 years ago.


I came home feeling quite good about the meeting and totally embarrassed at my meesily attempt to cry out to God over this project. I feel little, humble, but in another way strengthened for having tried. I know God knows what is in my heart and these people probably know too and could read between the deranged sentence structures what I really meant. This is really what counts and I am in process. It hurts, yes, to be so incapable but I only now see in a mirror dimly, but one day I will see clearly, I only communicate in garble but will one day speak clear truth upon seeing it. For now, let 'Picasso' pray as she might.