Preface: Molly and I have a faith that dictates the way we live our lives. Because of this same faith, our friends and families are praying for our safety and well-being and we are continually being blessed by one person or experience at any given time. We cannot stress enough how grateful we are to all of you who are supporting us financially, through meaningful relationship, prayer and intercession.

Today we walked with utter determination to Eglise St. Pierre (St. Peter’s Church) in the beautiful old part of Caen. The church is under construction, so the front of the church (what might be referred to as a Chancel) is beautifully white while the rest of the church has been hurt by pollution over the centuries. In time, the whole church will be white just like the Chancel. It certainly won’t be finished during the time I am here, but someday I’d like to see the finished product.

This is where we went to Church. Oh La La, non? :)

I had never gone to a mass in Europe before, and I had most certainly never attended a mass in a gothic cathedral the size of Eglise St. Pierre! We walked in, nearly breathless from our power-walk, and we were immediately compelled to sit down in awe. The music was breathtaking. A string quartet and flute played prelude music and we were struck by how many individuals turned out to worship. And even though I am not catholic, I was amazed at the feeling of complete spritual unity in the church.

I understood about .5% of the sermon, about 50% of the liturgy and about .0001% of conversation after the service. OH YEAH! WE MADE FRIENDS!!!!

Because there was a violinist in the church, I took a giant breath, summoned all the French language I could muster and walked up to the beautiful woman and said, “Bonjour, je m’appelle Kelli. Je suis un etudiante international. Merci pour ta musique au’jourdhui. Je joue la violon aussi.” (“Hi, my name is Kelli. I’m an international student. Thanks for your music today. I play the violin too.”) Her eyes lit up, and she asked without a trace of French accent, “Are you American?” and I grinned ear-to-ear. We had a French friend! Her name is Martha. Her mother is American and her father is French. She was so kind and wonderful! We met Mary (who’s also American!) and many others whose names, I am ashamed to say, I have forgotten. We are going to another church funtion later this week. I can’t wait!!!

After a lot of French that I didn’t understand, Mary, Molly and I went to the market in search of a beautiful little chicken for lunch, some potatoes and a nice crunchy baguette. We found everything we needed for a picnic lunch in my room and tromped back to our dorm, our new friend Mary in tow, to rejoice in another successful day.

The chicken was amazing, the potatoes delighfully full of olive oil and the dipping sauce that came with the chicken creepily full of liver. Eek.

Here's lunch! Nom!!!

Now the Africans are playing soccer outside, the clouds are rolling across the sky in a beautiful pattern and another day is winding down. Tomorrow we hope to finally access the illusive telephone enigma, my tram pass and a whole day of orientation duties. I am painfully unprepared for the language challenges headed my way, but I know that “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me,” and “God did not give us a spirit of timidity…!” Bring it on, France!

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