Braving the Park Bench

Two beautiful French women. Older women—a relative term from my vantage point. Sitting side by side on a park bench in Aix les Bains, France. Sharing quiet conversation about the exceedingly warm weather, the children playing next to the fountain, and that odd mixture of French and English spoken nearby. Of course I could only imagine their conversation, first because I speak very little French and second because in France no one talks loudly enough to be heard outside their immediate circle. The only sound my ears picked up from a close seat on the curb was a quiet hum of soft, slurred syllables; the music mesmerized. 

I offered a silent prayer for courage, then moved slowly toward the empty spot on the bench. In America, two women would have commandeered the entire pew for themselves, spreading as far apart as the seat would have allowed. Their voices, though, would have carried across the park, whether or not anyone else wished to listen. I was surprised and grateful for this physical place for me.

“Bonjour, Madame.” I ventured, gesturing toward the vacant area. I spied a slight smile as the beautiful white coiffure bobbed ascent, so I plunged ahead. For the next few minutes, I stumbled through French greetings and small talk with this lovely woman. The salt-and-pepper-haired lady joined the conversation, asking her friend first if she knew me. I learned the first had lived in Aix les Bains all her life, the second for decades. They learned I was traveling in France for two weeks, serving Protestant churches there. Each woman seemed genuinely curious and pleasant.

Suddenly, a third, much younger woman crashed on the scene. As if to protect her friends from my intrusion, this lady plopped herself between them and launched into a French flurry, with a heavy Italian accent. The other women barely moved to make room for their friend, so I still had plenty of physical space. However, the Italian’s dislike for my presence was plain. I listened with quiet curiosity. The word I understood most was “American!” spoken in a decidedly negative tone.

“Bonjour, Mesdames.” My young male colleague’s baritone resonated as if from a quiet bell tower. He knelt in front of the bench. Over the next few minutes, his engaging French conversation won even the Italian. Surprised to hear that he and his wife live in Aix and are studying French, these ladies warmed to his respectful, attentive approach.

As he strode back to our French and American friends, I commented softly that this special young man was “un tres bon ami.” With a combination of gestures, my fledgling French, and the ladies’ laughter, we agreed that friends of various ages give much joy. I then asked permission to take their picture.  What beautiful smiles!

Will you pray with me for these three lovely ladies? Will you pray that the Protestant church plant in Aix les Bains will receive favor from young and old in the village? Will you pray for bridges between the generations across France? May God fulfill His plan for each heart in this land.