Big Update

Well I feel like I could write for pages and pages about this trip, and I've only been in France five days! This conundrum makes me realize in advance one of the inevitable frustrations of studying abroad: it's simply impossible to relate an entire experience to people who don't share in that experience. Then again, I should have no excuses as a writer; writers are supposed to condense, select, eliminate, elaborate, and so on and so forth in order to make even the broadest of experiences readable. I'll see what I can do here...

I arrived in Montpellier on Saturday sometime around 6 or 7 pm (which in France is 18h00 [dix-huit heures] or 19h00 [dix-neuf heures], a conversion with which I still have much difficulty. I'm becoming more comfortable with people speaking a language other than the one I'm used to, but when they say the time, it's as if they're speaking yet another language, some third and totally foreign language. The metric system also seems just about impossible in my mind. In theory these conversions really aren't that difficult, but when I'm trying to do them in French they might as well be thermodynamic physics.). Overall it was probably my most stressful day so far. I mentioned in my previous post that I became quite comfortable with the metro, but trains are, for some reason, another story. I got on the train in plenty of time, but only after a few moments of mild panic and three visits to the info booth. What was far more stressful, however, was that the southbound TGV was experiencing delays of up to three hours due to snowy weather all over the country. I usually wouldn't care about a delay, but I had arranged to pick up the key to my dorm at a certain time, since the residential offices were closed on Saturday. Thus, I spent a long ride on the TGV not knowing if I'd have a place to stay once I arrived in this completely unfamiliar city.

My train arrived after dark, and I got off with my huge suitcase, backpackers' backpack, briefcase, and school backpack (the combined bulk and weight of which made me feel equally foolish, annoying, and conspicuous). I managed to find the tram, painted blue with white doves, and packed to the brim with young people. Nearly everywhere I looked, on the tram and in the city, young people abounded, shopping, strolling, laughing. A place for students, it seemed to me. And already I could tell people were a bit less tightly wound than Parisians.

I got off the tram so I could take a shuttle bus to my dorm. I asked a young man how much it cost to ride, and we got into a bit of a conversation, really my first one with a total stranger in France. Vincent was his name, and he was also a student at Montpellier III. Eventually I got around to telling him about the pickle I was in, i.e. that I wasn't sure I'd have a place to stay. Then he did something totally unexpected: he gave me his phone number and offered me a place to stay if I couldn't get in the dorms. After two and a half days among the seemingly frantic and antisocial people of Paris, I was amazed, and so very grateful.

Thankfully I didn't end up having to call Vincent; there was someone at l'Acceuil (Reception) who could give me my key. Vincent's kindness toward me, however, was indicative of the sort of guidance and security that God has given me on this trip on almost countless occasions (indeed, so was the fact that someone was working at l'Acceuil that night). It's amazing how many times I've had no idea where to go, no clue as to which street to turn on, which person to ask, and then direction suddenly comes out of nowhere. Or maybe not direction per se, but rather a directive intuition. I simply go one way or the other, choose a street to turn on, or spot a person to ask, and nearly every single time, this intuition has led me to the right place.

What happened yesterday is perhaps the outstanding example of this intuitive force, the guiding hand of God. Saturday night when I got into the dorm, I noticed a flyer for an Evangelical Protestant Christian church service. France, as with most of Western Europe, is considered by most if not all Christians to be spiritually dead. Over half of the people are Catholic, but less than half believe in a god. Catholic World News estimates that 3% are Protestant. That I should find a flyer for an Evangelic Protestant church just a few blocks from my dorm was therefore highly unlikely. But it gets even more unbelievable. I followed the directions and ended up at a row of houses. I didn't write down the exact address because I figured the church building would be obvious, but I did recall seeing the number 18 somewhere on the flyer. On the patio of house #19 was a woman smoking a cigarette. Before I'd finished asking the question, she told me to go next door. Sure enough, a ten minute walk away from my dorm, there was a group of Christians meeting in someone's house. As I met the four or five people already there, I learned that they had posted the flyers months ago, and that they were under the impression that students had torn them down almost immediately. Philippe, the pastor, called it a miracle that I'd seen one of their flyers. Then I learned that Philippe and his family were from Michigan, and that they'd been leading a church in France for 20 years. And soon after that Philippe, his wife, Sally, and I realized we had a mutual friend: Jerry Sittser! (For those who don't know, he's a theology professor -- a very beloved one, at that -- at Whitworth.) The three of them had gone to college together (Hope College, perhaps?) back in the day. The whole situation was utterly implausible.

I ended up spending almost nine hours at their house yesterday -- four and a half for the morning service and the subsequent lunch, and then again almost four and a half in the evening for their English service and subsequent dinner. On Wednesday I am going to help their family unload some donated kitchen supplies into their house, and on Saturday I think I might play soccer with a guy I met named Jonas who goes to Montpellier III. And this coming Sunday, I'm pretty sure I know where I'll be for most of the day. The whole day was a huge blessing and a magnificent answer to prayer. I'd suspected that getting involved with a church would be a great way to connect with people and to remain grounded in Christ while abroad, but I never imagined I would find one so quickly or so fortuitously. An absolutely stunning day.

I could go on and on about my church experience or about how good God has been, but instead I'll phrase it this way: rest assured that I am in good hands, with this church, yes, but more importantly, with an almighty God.

As for some more practical details, my dorm room is a single on a co-ed floor in a building of about 150 people. It includes a bathroom, bed, desk, closet, mini-fridge, sheets, and this weird cylindrical pillow. Right now I just have wireless Internet (this guy named Chadie down the hall let me borrow his access code), and it's a pretty weak connection, but I plan on buying a cable so I can plug in and make Skyping a possibility.

The dorm is really quiet right now because most students are still gone for break. Some have finals this week or next, and then, two weeks from today, Spring Term classes will begin. I have yet to register for classes, I have no idea which ones I'm going to take, and in fact I don't even know where the academic buildings are. Some research is in order, I suppose.

Because of my extended stay at church yesterday, I have only begun to explore the city today. I went out on foot, and to be honest I'm not really sure where I went. I did, however, find a Carrefour, which sells just about everything. I bought some food and a cell phone. Unfortunately, international calls outside of Europe cost almost 3 Euros a minute, or about $5/minute. In other words, don't expect a call from me until June.

The dorms being quiet as they are, I've only met three people on my hall: Chadie (whose name I don't know how to spell whatsoever), Clemence (a girl who probably thinks I'm a total idiot because I couldn't figure out how to open the door to the building), and David (my immediate neighbor who is from Poland and who I just met tonight). People have been very kind to me, both in the dorm and out in the city (and certainly in the church as well). It seems to me that they find it novel or charming or something that an American can speak French as well as I do. While this is flattering in a sense, I also feel extremely inarticulate pretty much all the time. For a guy who loves to communicate, this is frustrating. But heck, that's why I'm here -- to improve my French language abilities.

Well, this post is becoming outrageously long. (Kenny Dill, only you can say that sentence as it ought to be said.) I'll put up some pictures sometime soon. Until then, friends, teachers, mentors, family -- I miss you all. Lots of love from your Montpellier man.