Parlez-vous français?
About a month ago I was in France, driving
around the idyllic Normandy countryside.
My companions were my twenty-two year old son and my sweet, but feisty
eighty-five year old aunt. Blue skies,
rolling hills, little humidity, temperatures ranging from the upper seventies
to the lower eighties, abundant farm fields and pastureland, cows – lots of
cows, and no mosquitoes – that’s right, NO mosquitoes – Normandy is
awesome! For me, it’s pretty much what
heaven will be like.
For
two weeks my aunt fed us – simple and delicious French fare – cheese, cream and
baguettes. I didn’t want to exhaust my
aunt or bore my son, so we would have these little road trip excursions seeing
the sights of Normandy. Normally, I like
driving. Imagine being in a rental car
driving stick on narrow, winding, hilly roads with aggressive European
drivers. Now imagine a twenty-two year
old navigating in English using a cell phone that only works some of the time
while he fumes madly on an electronic pipe.
Imagine an eighty-five year old yelling and pointing in French BEHIND
you. Both of them are saying in their
respective languages not to listen to the other one. When I wasn’t laughing, I was wondering how
high my blood pressure was getting and what French hospitals were like.
Whenever
we took a turn that my aunt didn’t recognize, she would accuse my son of
wanting to see the countryside and doing it on purpose. Other times it was my fault because I didn’t
seem to know my left from my right. I
don’t, but that’s beside the point. She
would also tell me I just didn’t listen.
I’ve been told that before, too - many times. We also practiced French and English
swearing. My son was suitably impressed
and dubbed my aunt a “bad-ass,” which is apparently a compliment.
Some
conversations can be exhausting. My
aunt, after all, was in her own country.
Although she doesn’t drive, she knows where things are. My son was following the GPS. We all know how accurate they can be,
right? France has beautiful roads, well
maintained. There had been quite a few
changes to these roads since the last time my aunt had been on them. She would admit from time-to-time, after she
insisted on a certain route, that she no longer recognized anything. This usually prompted me to bang my head
against the steering wheel. When my son
led the route choice, she would mutter in the backseat about how wrong we
were. It didn’t help that every now and
then the GPS on the phone would just stop working, or just be wrong. My son would swear, and tell me to hold on –
not an easy feat at fifty plus miles per hour.
Both my son
and aunt were sure they were right about the direction we were supposed to be
taking. They were equally sure that the
other was wrong. My son, recently
admitted, that he often didn’t know where we were at, but didn’t want to tell
me because I seemed stressed. I wanted
to rent a GPS with the car, but he had insisted on using the phone he had
bought special for the trip. The poor
guy had endless trouble with this phone and switched services twice. My aunt came near to apologizing once after a
relative told her a road we took was a perfectly fine way to get somewhere even
if she had never been on it before. I
kept wondering who was filming it all.
My aunt
doesn’t speak any English and for the most part my son doesn’t speak
French. I understand both. I was willing to translate, but they
communicated and understood each other most of the time. Listening to the two of them talk to each
other had its entertaining moments. My
son is an aspiring engineer. He felt the
need to express to my aunt and our various relatives how much he appreciated
the metric system as opposed to the English system we use in America. Each time, they interpreted this to mean that
he didn’t like the English, and they were in hearty agreement! Who, after all, would like the English? Resentments, in Europe, run deep. Even when we speak the same language,
sometimes it feels like we don’t. Someone
might heartily agree with something you haven’t said at all. I’ve often felt I might as well speak French
to my kids. They couldn’t understand me
any less.
Ah, the joys
of communicating! Somehow this
experience has, in my mind, come to illustrate my life. Someone is always talking to me, and they are
always right. They are even sure they
know where I should be going or taking them.
Sometimes they keep critical information from me, because I appear
stressed. They also make decisions with
which I am forced to cope. Often,
somehow the problems we run across on the way are my fault. Apparently, because I’m not listening to them
carefully enough or just don’t know my left from my right.
Don’t get me wrong – I’m so
overwhelmingly thankful to have had this time with my precious aunt, who I have
not seen in ten plus years, and I treasured the opportunity to spend some
one-on-one time with this particular son, but I was having a little
stress. In fact, I don’t think I relaxed
until I dropped that car off at the airport rental agency at Charles de Gaulle. It was a German Opel SUV – pretty awesome
under the circumstances.
Communicating
with the people we love on the road of life can be a harrowing experience. Words aren’t our only problems. They, in themselves would be enough of a
problem. It is so easy to say something
offensive or harsh in the heat of the moment.
It is so easy to say things we regret.
Then there are impressions. Our
feelings about what someone says can cloud what they are actual saying and add
insult, real or imagined, to the issue at hand.
We can assume things about the person trying to communicate with us,
true or false, that cloud our understanding.
We can misunderstand what they are trying to say, or we can understand
all too well. Sometimes it just hurts to
communicate with those folks we love.
It’s complicated.
I
wish there was an easier way. Wouldn’t
it be nice if we could express ourselves and be understood? If folks would take personal responsibility
for their own actions, admit when they were wrong, be humble? If we would give each other the benefit of
the doubt, radiate grace, reflect mercy, trying to think the best of those we care about. Wouldn’t it be nice if there were no secret
agendas or deceit, just open, kind truth-telling?
For we all stumble in many ways.
If anyone does not stumble in what he says, he is a perfect man, able to
bridle the whole body as well. ~ James 3:2
I
guess we will never be perfect, but there is something to strive for:
Therefore, laying aside falsehood, speak truth each one of you
with his neighbor, for we are members of one another. Be angry, and yet do not sin; do not let the
sun go down on your anger, and do not give the devil an opportunity. ~
Ephesians 4:25-27
Let no unwholesome word proceed from your mouth, but only such a
word as is good for edification according to the need of the moment, so that it
will give grace to those who hear. ~ Ephesians 4:29
Let all bitterness and wrath and anger and clamor and slander be
put away from you, along with all malice.
Be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving each other, just as God
in Christ also has forgiven you. ~ Ephesians 4:31-32
Or, I
suppose we could just speak French.
Comments
Post a Comment