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Joy to the World, or "Joie dans le Monde" en Français.
Nous chanterons joie: we will sing joy.
The French are a people intertwined with their culture in such a beautiful way. One walks down any street in any French town, and there's no doubt one will find a restaurant with 13th century foundations or a pharmacy in an old castle.
This is something we as Americans are not familiar with: we have a past and we have a present. We don't often find such a paradox of old and new because as an inherently young country, that element does not exist.
I'm excited for this paradox, as it creates such a delicate melody of unity found in differences. Paradoxes though are quite odd. The definition is "a seemingly absurd or self-contradictory statement or proposition that when investigated or explained may prove to be well founded or true." (Oxford Dictionary)
I tend to find a lot of paradoxes in life though. I suppose that's how my mind works. For a while, it was an element of my psyche that I could not come to terms with— things HAD to be black or white, yes or no, this or that. But somehow, you can be filled with sadness and joy, all at once. You can be homesick yet also so at home in a new place. You can be excited and nervous all at once.
I've found peace as I melt in between these co-existing dichotomies.
I believe the reason I've come to this place of peace is Jesus. Our lives are a paradox, a place of flux, a liminal space. We were not created to be in this sad and broken world, we were made to be with our Creator, King, Friend, God. Yet here we are, messy and quick to react and sinful and ultimately longing for our reconciliation with Him, stuck in an in between space.
We can't get past this liminal place on our own, so Jesus came in as a humble baby, then died in our place so we could be with our Creator, King, Friend, God.
Nous chanterons joie parce qu'il reviendra.
We WILL sing joy because he WILL return again.
The future tense of French is used here, saying that we will sing joy. That is the qualifier, the paradox, the place of flux, the liminal space because we are still waiting for Him, expectantly waiting. That is this beautiful season of Advent: expectant waiting for our Savior.
(*sidenote: look up the Hebrew translation of "Hope" for a lovely etymological adventure into this expectant waiting.)
This season of waiting is so beautiful as we rely on the faithful character of our God to fulfill his promises.
So as I wait to go abroad, I rely on the faithful words of the Lord that say He will sustain and keep me, no matter where I am, and that He who began a good work in me will see it through until completion.
Jusqu'à la prochaine fois, et joyeux noël chers amis!
(Until next time, and Merry Christmas dear friends!)