A French Wedding

I was privileged to witness a beautiful French wedding ceremony this weekend.  (Anyone, including total strangers, can attend the Mass in the church. Virginie is the neice of a friend, and we had met her groom Olivier as well, and so I felt comfortable attending.)

In France--at least in this part of France, there are no pre-parties, no bridesmaid's luncheons, no rehearsal dinners here.  There is just one long celebration the day of.

At 10:00 in the morning, we begin to hear horns honking as the wedding party prepares for the day and family and friends arrive at the bride's house.  Residents of the town begin to gather in front of the church to see the bride and groom and all the people in their best outfits. (This is Lucie Jacques, Ida Jacques, and three ladies) 

At around 10:30, with lots of honking and all the cars decorated with tulle tied to door handles and antennae, the wedding party arrives at the town hall for the civil part of the ceremony:

(As we watched from across the street, a woman rode her horse through the center of town.)

At 11, the bride and groom (he's to her right in grey) walk across the parking area to the church, now legally married but not yet married in front of God. 

In the picture above, Virginie is escorted on the arm of her proud father.  Inside, the groom takes his place at the front of the church while the bride and her father greet the last-minute guests in the entry of the church.  (At this point, I took my spot at the back of the church with the other people who were there to witness the Mass but not invited guests.)

Just as in the US, whether or not the couple are believers is not critical to whether or not the ceremony is held in a church. But there is a different feeling when the Holy Spirit is a welcome part of the ceremony, and this was the case with this wedding.  One thing I loved about the ceremony was that it seemed to be for the benefit of Virginie and Olivier as opposed to being centered around Virginie and Olivier.  Some weddings can feel like a show with the bride as the star of the show.  In this one, God was the focus.  Virginie's father spoke; the priest spoke; Scripture was read; Communion was served; the choir sang.  Every part of it lifted the couple up to God; everything was about honoring and blessing the union of these two people, and they were joyful witnesses of the celebration.

When the ceremony ended 90 minutes later, the bride and groom came out to applause and more horn-honking.  You can just see the three yellow post office mini-trucks parked in front--Virginie is a postal worker.  (Olivier is a police officer.)

At this point, the first group of invited guests heads to the rented hall for an aperitif and appetizers.  As the afternoon wears on, everyone except the inner circle of invited guests (usually the immediate family and closest friends, plus the Godparents) leaves the "festival hall."  And the long celebration meal begins and lasts several hours, including party games between courses and a lot of celebration.  Several hours later, those who are invited, who left earlier, come back to join the "inner circle" for dancing and more of the celebrating.  It goes on all night--all night.  It was around 5:00am when Ren heard the some of the wedding guests walking (thankfully) home.

I hope you enjoyed this glimpse into a French country wedding!  I love the way they celebrate, but I'm not sure I'm up to an all-night party anymore...

Market Day in 1823

Once upon a time there was a man named Laurent Baradel.  He lived on a farm in the mountains above a town in eastern France.  Once a month, there was a market in the town, and since farms were so far apart, it was a reason for celebration and social gathering--and sometimes, people had a little too much to drink.  On one such market day in June of 1823, Laurent's neighbor, Claude, who had already returned to his home in the mountains after market, noticed Laurent and his friend walking past his house.  Now Claude was the jealous type, and Laurent always seemed to do well on his farm.  And Claude had had a little too much to drink.  So he yelled something out to Laurent that wasn't very neighborly, and the two men began to fight.  Words thrown at one another became fists thrown, and then suddenly Claude had a knife...and Laurent lay bleeding on the road between the two houses.

Laurent's friend ran as fast as he could to the town to get the local magistrate, but by the time they returned, Laurent was dead.  After a lengthy trial, Claude was found guilty of murder, but because of a technicality, he was released and set free.  He returned to his farm, next door to the family of the man he murdered, and lived out his days.

Laurent's wife had a stone cross erected on the spot where he was killed, which reads:

"Cross erected in memory of Sire Laurent Baradel, age 43 years, died here the night of 17-18 June 1823 by a violent act."

Laurent's son, who was 19 at the time, went on to have his own family.  Eventually, in 1929, one of his descendants Lucie Baradel married Raymond Jacques and settled in the town, Granges-sur-Vologne, in eastern France, and they had seven children, one of which was named Rene.  His namesake is pictured below:

(Left) standing on the ruins of Laurent Baradel's farm in the mountains above Granges.  (Right) Ren reenacts the fatal act on the spot where it happened, next to the memorial cross Laurent's wife erected, about a half-mile from the ruins of Laurent's house and a few feet from the ruins of Claude's house.

Happy Father's Day!

Happy Father's Day to all the Dad's out there, especially  mine.  We had a terrific day Sunday, starting with church in the morning in Granges:

...followed by one of Patrick's favorite meals for lunch: American meatloaf with chess pie for dessert. 

The best part of the day for us was playing Belote, a French card game, with Patrick's Mom Ida. It is a game for four people that is a lot of fun, and Ren learned it quickly. Ren and Patrick beat Ida and me for two matches out of three. We played all afternoon (since it was about 50 degrees outside) and had a great time.

Some of you may know that I descend from some of the best Old Maid players in America (in their minds at least) so playing cards is always an enjoyable way to pass a cold afternoon.

Happy Father's Day!

Working the Garden

A small plot of land is set aside as our garden in France.  It came with the house and already had a few plants in it: two strawberry bushes, some lilies, and some bulbs that bloom in the spring (we have no idea what they are).  Last year, I planted perennials and wondered what would come back this year.  When we got to Granges, we were told the garden was a mess of weeds, but after pulling out the dandelions (they are massive here) and other weeds, some of the plants were evident.  And even without pulling weeds, two things were immediately obvious: the lavender we planted were healthy and spreading.  And the digitalis--foxgloves--had returned as well. 

The significance of the foxgloves lies in who they represent for the three of us.  A few years ago, our friend and mentor Camille Lievaux came to pick us up in Granges, telling us, "You have to see this--I've never seen anything like it.  Come on--right now, just as you are."  We hopped in the car with him and his wife Lucette, and he took us to a hilltop not far away.  He explained that before the "Storm of 2000" which knocked down entire forests of trees, this area had been completely wooded, but since the storm, it was clear.  As we pulled up, we saw with wonder the reason he was so excited: it was filled with foxgloves, mostly the traditional pink but with some rare white ones mixed in.  Camille, a photographer by trade and never without his camera, took many pictures that day, and a couple of them ended up in one of his books of photographs. 

Camille passed away this past February just shy of his 89th birthday.  So when the foxgloves came up in the garden, full and strong, I saw again the hand of God blessing us and reminding us that we will meet Camille again.  I can only imagine what pictures he is taking now--and the team of basketball players he is coaching!

We visited his wife Lucette this week, and she told us that the foxgloves have never come back to the place we visited that day--it was a one-time event, the rainbow after the storm, and a perfect reminder that God redeems everything, even the "Storm of the Century."

Counting Our Blessings

We are safely in France, in our little "pied a terre" in Granges.  Cloudy rainy skies greet us each morning but the sun peaks through once a day, and the cool temperatures are welcome after North Carolina heat and humidity.  We have been amazed at how quickly we have recovered from the jetlag--usually a week-long process.  But thanks to the funky read couch we found during the 7 hour layover in London, we got almost a full night's sleep (in pieces) during the travel. 

The amazing thing was that there were almost no places to rest in the waiting area at Heathrow.  Terminal 3, where we had to wait after passing through security, is a huge area filled with shops and restaurants and groups of seats, all with arm rests--as though they really don't want anyone to nap.  We walked the length of the "airport mall" without finding a single bench or flat area that wasn't the floor.  Then, just when thoughts of sitting upright for the 6 hours left of our layover were getting us down, we spotted four red couches, and one of them had a family that was packing up to get to their flight.  God is good! 

I am amazed at how He blesses us--and often it is the little things, like finding one of only four places to rest in a sea of uncomfortable seats.  And being in this pretty little town surrounded by green mountains, family, and friends.