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Which is true. I did absolutely fall in love with France. The culture, the architecture, the cobblestone streets, the food, the desserts and breakfast treats, and yes, even the French people. No part of me was ready to leave when the week came to a close.
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| Enjoying lunch with my team! |
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| Serving free refreshments at the Fête de la Musique. |
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| Exploring at a local North African Market! |
And yet, as I spent the week serving local communities of immigrants who face regular discrimination and deep trials, my heart began to break. I realized that these people aren’t that much different from those in my home country. People in America hurt, too. People in America love, too. People in America need community, too. People in America need help, too. While my heart was singing a love song to France, it was also aching for the place my feet have stood for 20 years.
I don’t need to cross oceans to make an impact when the people I love need impacting, too. I realized over the week that while some are called to serve overseas for places and people often forgotten, I am called to love the people I see walking my streets every day. The people I couldn't possibly forget.
I may not have realized how much passion I have for my home had I not left dreaming of finding a wonderful life somewhere else. I think there’s about a hundred idioms for that feeling: the grass is always greener, you don’t know what you have till you’ve lost it, hindsight is 20/20… I could go on. But at the end of the day, what I discovered in France is a country I ache to visit again, but more importantly a burning passion for my home and its people that cannot be smothered.