Ryan's culte

So, unfortunately, the French word for devotion, worship, religion, worship service... is also the word for a cult. On Sunday's, we go to church to the culte. We also have a culte every day before class, Monday and Thursday as a large group, Tuesday in our individual classes, and Friday we sing worship songs. For this blog entry, we are using culte as devotion. Ryan shared the following (all in French!) with the student body this week. 

This is my testimony of how I became a missionary and how God has worked on my life to change my heart to be willing to follow him wherever he calls me to go.

When I was 10 I went on my first mission trip. It was a group of 100 medical personnel and supporters who created a hospital in a school for 2 weeks during the summer in rural and remote Mexico. I went on a trip with my family almost every year growing up. On these trips I came to understand more profoundly Luke 12:48 where it says, to whom much is given much will be required. I saw the poverty of the world and I knew I wanted to do something to help.

After that first trip, I found myself 10 years later in college, asking the question how can I be useful for God. I was studying to be a biomedical engineering at the time and I was learning the value of usefulness and efficiency, two very important values in America and particularly in the field of engineering. Unfortunately, these two ideas became more important to me than trusting God with my future.  They became idols in my life. I found that I was more concerned with how useful my work was and how efficient I was that I was missing opportunities to form deep relationships with those around me. I was also not open to taking many risks because unless it was measurable and well understood, I was afraid it may be a waste of time and resources. My god became efficiency.

However God changed this way of thinking in a profound way.

While at university, I had a friend who was also studying engineering like me. However, he did not seem as stressed as I was about grades and results. He took time to be with people and reached out to me when I was very lonely in college. We played soccer together on the university team and I had hoped to be a captain of the team with him. Sadly, he developed leukemia the summer before his last year in university just before the start of the soccer season. Tragically, the leukemia took his life that winter. Yet, he taught me so much in that short time we had. He showed me the importance of relationship and people above results and productivity. His life changed my thinking even in just the two years I knew him.

After college I married my wife, Shannon, and I began to wonder what my service in missions would look like. I thought maybe it would be 2 week trips like I grew up going on. However, Shannon had a passion to serve long term as a doctor. This was difficult for me because going overseas for me meant sacrificing my ideas of efficiency and productivity as well as a good job at a very prestigious research university. It also meant that since I was following my wife who would serve as a doctor, I would not have a clear role, another frustration for me. As I saw the passion God gave Shannon to be a doctor, I knew I needed to pray that God would find a way to make our two separate desires united. What God did was difficult but also amazing.

I began to think more seriously of full time missions service, but leaving the security of the USA and a job I found fulfillment in was very intimidating. However, God began to change me. He began to help me understand that taking a risk for him my not be efficient or productive in my definition, but that it was what he wants. God wanted my whole heart and my will to be given totally to him. He was calling me to let go of efficiency and productivity. He was calling me to give up my pride and move into the unknown world of missions in Africa. It was scary and also exciting because I knew God had changed my heart.

But how did God change my heart. God showed me through the miracles and life of Jesus that efficiency is not the goal, but total surrender of my will is the goal. Jesus did not efficiently heal everyone he met. Each time he healed the blind, he used a different way. Jesus also did not always preach efficiently as we might think he would have preached. Rather, he invested deeply in the lives of 12 men. I understood as I saw the life of Jesus that I needed to be surrendered to the will of God the father and not the will of efficiency. I now have the freedom not to judge my life based on its usefulness to the world or its efficiency. I now know that my soul purpose in life is to do the will of God the father and to be completely open to whatever he calls me to do. Whether that is moving to Vanga DRC with my wife and 1 year old daughter or living in the USA and working as an engineer, I now have a new way of thinking thanks to God and his actions to bring about heart change.

Lord, thank you that you are patient with us as we learn to do your will. Thank you for showing me the idols of efficiency and productivity in my life. Thank you that you love us even in our sin. Thank you for your grace as we fail to live the way you have called us to live. I ask that you would create new hearts in us that would seek to do your will above all else. In the name of Jesus Amen. 

Snapshots at the half-way mark

The end of January will mark the half-way point in our language school training time. I've decided that all the small little stories I have stored in my head need to be written. So here are snapshots of our January.

New students, old friends
Just after Christmas, we had great joy in welcoming new students, especially fellow physician families from Samaritan's Purse World Medical Mission Post-Residency Program that we are in. Bryant and Rachel Ward with their son J (2 weeks different than Sydney) are going to Togo. and Patrick and Anna LaRochelle with their kids L and M are going to east Congo. J started walking the week after they arrived in France! It was fun to see Sydney and him interacting. Many many of the kids of the newly arrived students were sick the first 1-2 weeks of school, including J and L, making for a difficult start to classes. The sickness is likely due to the different viral strains either caught while traveling or just after arrival. But now it seems that the wave has subsided, thankfully.

Classes
Classes started up again 3 weeks ago. Ryan and I both passed our exams, A2 and A1, respectively, in December, but Ryan had been having a frustrating experience in his class and was debating whether to change classes. In essence, his class consisted of a wide variation of abilities, including some who had learned African "bush" French without any formal training, some who had significant formal training, and Ryan who was pushing himself above the level he had reached in his college course. Thus, the speaking ability of much of the class surpassed that of Ryan, although he understood the grammar well. We prayed about it over the winter break, and he ultimately decided to stay in the class to push himself, and he has been glad that he is there. The last two weeks before the Christmas break were when he really felt he started engaging in the class discussions, and the class size diminished a bit to make it more manageable.
As for my class, we were the beginner class in Sept, and thus we all started at ground zero. We have had great chemistry with our teacher and each other from the beginning. Our teacher is single, lives in the house next to the family building, and frequently joins us for birthday parties, games nights, and dinner. We are sorely missing a few of our classmates who left (planned) to go to Chad already, and a few who changed to private tutoring or staying home with their kid(s), but we continue to have great fellowship. It is easy (and I'm sure the Enemy loves it) to feel like it is a competition to perform, but during our times of devotion and prayer each week as well as eating cake together, keep us focused on the goal: ALL of us succeeding in learning French to the glory of God.

Ryan's Injury 
Since a club soccer game on December 6, Ryan has been nursing several injuries to his right leg: a severe ankle sprain, and strain on his knee and hip. He was able to run this week and came to play volleyball also, so we are very thankful for this.

Volleyball
As a way to get out into the French community and be immersed, develop friendships, and stay active, the volleyball club has been excellent. I learn how to use slang words and phrases, hear instructions given (and generally can deduce some meaning with the actions), and there is a lot of conversation during the 2 hours of playing.
In general, talking about politics or religion is simply avoided in most settings here in France. Wearing a religious symbol at a government office is forbidden, and it definitely is not talked about in school. At a formal club (which is also government-run), I was unsure how this might play out. But a lot of my t-shirts have either sports teams or bible verses from mission trips, so if I needed to limit my wardrobe to t-shirts without symbols of religion, that would drastically reduce the amount of clothing I have to wear. The only other time we have mentioned our faith at the club has been when people ask what we are in France for and where we are going. We had to explain what a missionary was to a few of them... that is how foreign the concept is to the French at this time in history.
At any rate, yesterday I was hitting the ball back and forth with our closest friend at volleyball, the guy who comes every week to take us in his car to the volleyball club in Ugine, just 10 min away. I noticed that he was wearing a cross during one of our first weeks, and asked him about it. He mentioned that he was a practicing Catholic. So I have felt more free to talk with him about my faith. But yesterday I think I offended him. I asked if he had heard of a song that we had used in our French class to learn the conditional tense. He asked if it was in French or English. When I said, "French, for the children" He emphatically told me that it was impossible. (he is a musician as well as engineer). We had used YouTube and it was in French, so I told him that. He again replied that he had never heard of that song at school. Ding ding ding. "Oh, no it isn't for school, it is for church, for the children." And I said a few of the lyrics. It was like a wall came up, right between us. His face changed from his normal smile to a stern look and his eyes grew cold. I back-peddled, trying to figure out how I had offended him while still trying to finish my story (which had a very funny ending!). Until I got to the ending, which takes long as I'm trying to relay it in French, he remained very solemn. As soon as the funny ending came up and he related to the story, he snapped back and laughed about what I'd said. But it makes me wonder. Was his reaction to my story a) that I was speaking about something religious at the club b) that the divide between Catholics and Protestants is a huge deal, considering the history with the Huguenots in this area c) that the idea that we were singing a "religious" song as a way of teaching in our French class was repulsive d) that he was afraid of where my story was going to go... Anyway, it is interesting--the difference that religion makes in the US as opposed to France

Grocery stores
Again, I'm going to write about grocery shopping. It might be that a good chunk of time is spent there, but it may also just provide a source of endless entertainment as I tell of my mishaps. I was walking through the store and recounting the things that either are different or that took me a long time to figure out when we first arrived.

• The -85 does not mean you get money for putting it in the cart. It means that it costs 0 Euros, and 85 centimes. Very confusing.
• All of the fruits and vegetables are labeled with the country where they were grown, nearly as big as the name of the fruit. MAROC BANANE (bananas from Morocco)
• You CANNOT find bacon. Lots of types of meat that comes from a pig, but not normal bacon. I mean, everybody likes bacon. Where is the bacon??
• Steer clear of stinky cheese. I repeat, steer clear of the stinky cheese. There is a reason that some French people have a separate fridge for cheese. I'd need a separate house, thank you.
• Baking powder is not in bulk. It is in tiny tiny packets. 
• Croissants are so worth it. 
• Not all fruit juice is alike. Apparently, juice made from the oranges of Spain is bitter. 
• Black beans are more rare than escargot. In fact, I think only one store sells back beans in the whole town. 
• Good hot peppers are also difficult to find. I guess Mexican food is just hard to make here.

Doctoring

So during Christmas break I delivered a second baby in the apartment building (planned this time). I have had numerous house calls, performed a circumcision, and helped edit a research paper from a colleague in Congo. It helps me to remember what I love to do when I get bogged down in the conditional tense of French. If I were fluent, then I COULD stop studying... etc. 

Hitchhiking

So gorgeous and steep, even with the heavy snowfall!

Last weekend was the first time that I have legitimately hitchhiked. A small group of us students went skiing on Saturday. (Unfortunately, Ryan was not able to come due to his injury.) We took a free bus about 30 minutes up into the mountains where it dropped us off at the bottom of a ski lift. I would call it a ski resort, but it is not. There is a bathroom, a ticket office, and a ski lift. No place to eat or put our things. Thankfully, on this day, a very nice young woman working at the ticket office offered to let us store our bags in the office in exchange for chocolate. :) Not kidding.

We bought a ski card for the year, and therefore we found the only thing we needed to do was to keep the card in our pocket. As we went through the turnstile just before the lift, the turnstile detected the card (still in my pocket of my snowpants!) and beeped. The fee for a day of skiing is immediately withdrawn from our French bank account. A day of skiing is only about $25!

We made our way across the mountains. There are just a few runs from each lift, and one of the lifts transverses the mountain and took us to another ski resort option (this one had a ski village and some sort of lodge at the bottom). That lift was taking people up both sides of the mountain, so if we got on one side of the lift, we went the opposite direction. Another first for me in skiing was seeing a two-mountain, two-way lift.

An example of white out conditions in the background

It was heavily snowing all day, making visibility very difficult at times. If you have ever skiied in white-out conditions, this was it. Lots of knee-deep powder (new runs had just opened) in places, snow falling, and very few skiiers on the mountain made it somewhat difficult to see where we were supposed to be skiing anyway. One time, we stopped to wait for the rest of our group and the snow was particularly bad. After a couple of minutes of unrelenting snow blowing in our face (seemed more than normal) we finally saw enough that we realized that they were making snow and we were between two of the snowmakers... on top of the snow which fell from the sky. Ha! We moved.

At one point, I told my fellow skiiers that I was just going to head straight down as fast as I could in that powder. The powder got deeper and deeper and thus I got slower and slower. As I watched with glee the powder puffing over my knees, one of my friends zoomed by above me, going more to the right. "You are off the piste!" he shouted with a smile. "You are piste-off!" This became a routine joke, mixing the French word for ski trail (piste, i makes and EEE sound) with our English.

We gathered at the starting point for lunch. As we found out, there were no places to sit, only a strip of stores with small pizzeria next to the ski rental shop. We opted to eat our lunch under an archway, out of the snow, but certainly on the ground. We all decided that in the future, it would be better to pack in the lunches (bearing in mind the lack of storage anyway) and eat at the top. There are supposedly some picnic spots at the tops, somewhere, but I really think the French take such pride in eating properly that most would rather sit and have a proper meal in a restaurant, even while skiing!

Eating lunch in the hallway

In the afternoon, we tried to tackle some reds (they have reds before black runs, consistent with an in-between level of difficulty) and blacks near the top of the other ski resort. One of my friends, Matthew, and I were at the very top of the mountain when we realized that they were closing the pistes. Odd, because in the US in my experience they stop the ski-lifts and let everyone make their way down except for a few of the very difficult runs or back-side bowls. So we were sifted and shuttled down a slow green trail as our only option. They closed faster runs literally right in front of us. So by the time we got to the bottom, our only option for a ski-lift still running was up to a parking lot at the ski resort. There was no way to ski back to our original resort and the place of the free return bus.

Matthew, my fellow hitchhiker and volleyball teammate is on the right. Some crazy Australian is on the left (also a volleyball teammate and student at our school)

We asked several people, including a police officer, and they confirmed that there was no free shuttle, nor a bus, and that we should get a taxi. RIIIGGHHT. Where?? On an isolated mountain, would we find a taxi....??? Several suggested the tourism office, but considering their normal hours of operation, we did not want to walk through the town in uncomfortable ski boots to find such a closed office. So, with only 45 minutes left until our bus departed, we decided that our only option was to hitchhike. I was so glad that Matthew was a former police officer with a good gut feeling about people. We looked through the parking lot for people getting into their cars, and one by one went to ask if they had extra room and were going the direction we needed. Time was ticking away, and we weren't finding anyone. A small group pointed us in the direction, AGAIN, of the tourism office, we explained that time was running out and we couldn't risk that. As we walked away, one of the guys talked to his wife, and then told us that he would give us a ride. We were so relieved and grateful. The drive to the bus stop was 25 minutes, and we pulled up behind the bus just two minutes before it left! Whew!

Lastly, on our way home, we found out that the whole group was hitchhiking our way back to Albertville. The employee shuttle driver had explained that the free bus had already left (an hour before) and that his was the last bus down. After seeing our predicament, he gave all nine of us a free ride back on the employee shuttle. Given that information, Matthew and I were quite certain that the bus would not have waited even a few minutes to see if we would arrive late. Timing could not have been more close. As we arrived back home, I knew for multiple reasons, that we should have been stuck on the mountain, or at least stuck in the parking lot, had not a lot of nice French people helped us navigate our first ski experience in the Alps.

Three lessons learned: never leave home without a box of chocolate, never stop directly underneath a snowmaker, and if you need to get lost on a mountain, get lost with a former or current police officer.

I am...

Charlie
Events in Paris shocked the country. Our small town continued on normally, even as news reports kept us updated on the latest and kept us in suspense until the resolution of the initial situation. There was a march of unity in our downtown, and while getting our daily bread at the boulangerie, I participated in a emotionally-moving moment of silence. All the bakers dusted off their flour-covered aprons, the machines for slicing bread were turned off, and the vendors stopped putting croissants in paper bags. They all came out into the area where the customers were standing and we, together, stood and became silent.

On a political level, of all the things we value, the US and France probably are most similar in the value we both place upon the right of free speech. More than the UK, more than any other country...We are most like France in this way. And as such, quite a few of us were embarrassed by the lack of a high-ranking US representative in Paris. It was talked about, but most of our French friends just avoided that altogether. I saw one of my volleyball friends give his friend a look when the subject turned to the US and they both became quiet.

We discussed in our class, briefly, that the magazine writes/draws very offensive material, but against "tout le monde" everyone. So although we dislike its message, we would never want our freedoms taken away. And simplistically, the reason our western culture does not get physically defensive over Christian-bashing, is that we value truth above all in our culture. So we may verbally defend the truth of the message, and emphatically. On the contrary, other cultures value honor above all. Arguing does not necessarily resolve the dishonor brought upon them. Honor, in some cases and for some people, must be avenged and payed for.

Lastly, the phrase "Je Suis Cha rlie" has been everywhere. It means, "I am Charl ie." Not "My name is Charlie," but I am that person or thing. If you mess with [insert person or thing], then you are messing with me. Just like Jesus tells us that He became one of us so that He could be sin for us, and then take it away, along with our guilt and shame. So that when the Father looks at us, He sees Jesus. We, undeservedly, have Jesus saying "I am Shannon," and "I have payed for her," and then the Father readily says, "Welcome into My Presence, my perfect child."

Watching the monitor

Our little Sydney became very sick during our Christmas break. We went to the ER on Christmas Eve, hoping to avoid being there on Christmas Day. She had had a fever for 4 days, her breathing had become more rapid, and her activity level was decreasing to conserve energy. Thankfully, we had an oxygen monitor at home which we are bringing to the hospital in Congo, and we used that to see how she was doing. Each day it seemed to get a bit worse.

Christmas Eve

As far as an ER goes, in this small town and on Christmas Eve just before midnight, it was insanely quick. From the time we left our house to the time when we returned, it was just over 45 minutes. The drive was 5 min, they ushered us right to a room while Ryan stayed to fill out some paperwork, the nurse came in to check vitals, and then the doctor was there. After a bit of bloodwork and a thorough nose wash (which the French adore and deem absolutely essential), Sydney had cried quite a bit and her breathing was better. The bloodwork and exam indicated a viral infection. This was not surprising, but we were hoping to get a prescription for an antibiotic in case (and when) the viral infection took her immunity down enough to get a bacterial pneumonia. We did not want to return. But, they preferred that we come back if she worsened, and in the art of medicine, giving a prescription as a precaution was not as conservative as they practiced. 

Christmas Day with her first doll

Christmas Day was fun with a toddler. She was usually feeling her best in the morning, and this proved true this Christmas. We read a bit of the Christmas story from her Jesus Storybook Bible and opened a few gifts that had come in the mail from family or Amazon (necessities are much more fun when they are wrapped!). Sydney got her first doll, and we watched with amusement as she looked at it, smiled, hit it in the head, and then put her face up to it, hit it again, then went cheek to cheek. She has been playing with the toys left over from the 4 boys that used to live in our apartment last year, and so a doll was quite different than the noise-makers, cars, rubber frogs and spiders that she was used to.

The day after Christmas we knew that Sydney's sickness was continuing to worsen. She was not playing anymore, her fever continued, her breathing was short and rapid, and now her oxygen concentration was borderline at times. Because she did not know how to spit out the phlegm she was coughing up, she began vomiting the little fluid that she was taking in other than breastmilk. It was time to return for an X-ray and fluids, and potentially an antibiotic. The day after Christmas in the ER was a totally different story, although the wait was not abnormal. We finally got into the ER room, and X-ray showed broncho-pneumonia, her fever was 104, oxygen 87, and we knew it was time for admission. Sadly, she hardly protested at the IV line as she was too sick. The oxygen was not a bother except when she needed to itch her nose. She would rub it out of place, and then cry as we replaced it into the correct position. This became a cycle which repeated itself throughout her hospital stay. She also got an oxygen monitor on her big toe which made it light up like Rudolf's nose. 

ER nap

So tired- still in the ER

We were in the ER from 11am-6pm when we were transferred to a room on the pediatric floor. At first, I was thinking it might be peaceful there and a respite, knowing that Sydney was getting fluids and oxygen and would hopefully sleep peacefully. There was a twin bed and a reclining chair for us, and I had a book and the ipad to work on. It was very naive of me to think this. A hospital bed may have been like a hotel for me after Sydney was born with meals brought and nurses to help, but I was totally healthy and it was me who was the patient. With a child, a helpless and pathetic-looking little girl, it is totally different than a hotel. It is a place of worry and pleading with the Lord, the oxygen monitor, and the nurses.

Her Lion King room

Her glowing toe is from the oxygen monitor

Sydney, defying the instructions to sleep on her back in the most uncomfortable position, or to keep her arms and hands inside the crib at all times ;)

Contrary to my hopes, Sydney did not sleep well. The nurses wanted her to sleep on her back on an incline. She has (almost) never slept on her back. She has always preferred her side and now that she is older, she often curls into a ball on her stomach with her arms and legs tucked under her. And with the sickness, she only wanted that comforting position (which was not ideal for breathing) or to be in our arms. As Ryan or I held her, we would dose off only to be awakened by the alarm on the oxygen monitor, the IV being kinked at her arm, or a nurse wanting to get a temperature. I felt my emotions mirrored the oxygen monitor. When it showed the oxygen saturation getting lower and lower, I felt worried, wondered whether we should turn the oxygen up, and tried to change her position to allow her to cough out what was blocking her breathing. When it was normal 98-100 (which did not happen the first night) I would be encouraged and think of all the people who were praying for her health. Then when it decreased again, I would think, "oh keep praying everyone!!"

Watching the oxygen monitor

So sick of being sick!

And we know a lot of people were praying! We sent out prayer requests as much as we could without access to the internet in our room. It was so encouraging to have our language partners come to visit, our ministry partners (the Rices), their language partners, and our pastor from our church here in Albertville visit twice! They had a special prayer time at our church to pray for her health as well. This was especially encouraging, considering my experience at church just before Sydney became sick (see my post "deserving").

Playing under the crib with her Nounou (nanny) the day of discharge

We praise God that He is our healer, and He saw fit to bring her back to full health. We enjoyed watching our first big snow dump on Albertville from our hospital room. As she was improving, Sydney was curious about the large white stuff falling from the sky and wanted to go to the window to see. Our experience in the hospital in a foreign country was overall very good. We were fully immersed in French for 3 days, including a bonus that a lot of the speaking was medical. We learned that the nose rinse can cure all (ok, a little sarcasm is helpful to ward off frustration), that the French nurses use a headlight to come in our room at night so they don't have to turn on the light, and that the French like their meals to be served properly. As a parent, I was ushered to a separate room with other parents when it was time for lunch so that we could sit at a table to have a proper meal and a proper conversation.

Albertville Hospital

View from our window- SNOW!!

The snow dump, viewed from the hospital, with the Olympic figure skating rink in the background (blue structure)

But, having said that, I was never more happy to come back home where there were no monitors or temperature-taking at 3am. Just a crib, black-out windows, and lots and lots of sleep for Sydney. We cancelled our trip to Paris, and instead enjoyed a week of relaxation, game-playing, and helping families move into their apartments before the start of school this semester. We are so thankful to be home and healthy!

Deserving

Ever had a bad day in church with your kid/children? And then thought about just skipping church because it was such a hassle? This particular Sunday's trials taught me a lesson.

 We love our church, but it is crowded and there is no space for a nursery until they move into a new space in the spring. Thus, most of the children go to local houses for teaching applicable to their ages and those of us with babies try to entertain them on our laps. Or maybe one of the parents stays home with them? I'm really not sure, and it could have to do with the language barrier. Anyway, Sydney is now 14.5 months, very busy, mobile, curious, and sometimes loud. We have been trying to have her sleep during the sermon, so during the prayer and singing times, she is awake. Now when I said crowded, let me explain. Our knees sometimes are touching the seats in front of us, and our chairs are hooked together to our neighbors'. There is almost no floor space for a one year old to walk between us or play. We have kept a box that she can sit in, but she has not been interested in staying in the box. It seems that we are the only ones with a baby, and it can be very frustrating.

The Sunday I'm referring to was particularly discouraging as a mom. Sydney was being herself, but not particularly louder or more curious than normal. She touched the people in front of her as she moved past, but that is understandable given that our knees nearly touch the seats in front of us. Just after one of the worship songs, someone in front of me turned around and indicated that I should take Sydney to the back. I was shocked. There is no back, really. There is a door to the outside where it is now cold, a half glass wall making an entryway the size of a loveseat, and a coffee table and chair (already occupied) in the back row. But I felt compelled to take her out of our row. I just grabbed her and stepped over the knees of Ryan and another person and finally down the aisle to the back. Now what!? The man sitting in the back row got out of his chair and sat on the coffee table so that I could have a chair. Sydney walked over to the small entryway and started taking umbrellas out of the holder. She brought each one to me, then clunked them back in the holder. I tried to keep her from being loud, but I had few options with none of her toys nor her water bottle in the back with me. Ryan turned around to see how we were doing, and he then brought her pacifier, water, and the baby carrier to us. As there were no seats, he went back and sat down. After a short time, I strapped Sydney in the baby carrier and went out into the cold, feeling very much like I didn't belong. As I paced the alley and street, and as Sydney fell asleep as is her custom, my mind went back to the worship service. I felt discouraged about the lack of childcare, about my struggle to catch the meaning of songs and prayer and the sermon in French even without the distraction of a child. I started doubting my ability as a mom to train my daughter to be calm and quiet in church. Then I thought that perhaps back in the service they were taking communion. Oh good. I'll miss that. I certainly don't deserve to take communion with my bad attitude today.

REWIND. I certainly don't deserve to take communion.  That stopped me abruptly, literally, as I was walking in the street. Thankfully Sydney did not awaken. But I was wide awake. Deep down, I must have been thinking that I somehow deserve forgiveness, deserve the sacrifice of the Lamb, deserve to freely take part of His body and blood. No no no. There is no one righteous, not even one. But He gave Jesus who DID nothing wrong to die for me so that when God looks at me, He does not see me in my broken condition, but He sees Jesus's body and blood, and welcomes me with open arms into His presence. Not because I deserve it, but because I'm paid for with precious stuff.

I went back into the service, Sydney sound asleep, with a renewed attitude. I took part in communion and listened to the message. The act of attending church never saves anyone, but this Sunday, the Holy Spirit used it to save me from myself, and renewed my gratitude for the One who is DESERVING.