France Day 3 and 4: The Saint

Above, top to bottom: Marie-Jean, Brett and Tim say their good-byes and thank-you's in French after a wonderful day and several gourmet meals on March 26, 2009 in Cavaillon, France; Jocelyn, Tim, Marie-Jean and Brett outside their home; Jocelyn, myself, Marie-Jean and Brett; a quiche Marie-Jean baked for us during our 24-hour mega-feast and lesson in the finest of French dining; stuffed tomatoes Jocelyn made for us. I was licking my plate.

"Il y a un fete dans ma bouche," I proclaimed to the lunch table and one of our hosts, Jocelyn.
The blond-haired widow and mother of two from Normandy stared blankly back at me as she contemplated the meaning of the phrase. She looked at the stuffed tomatoes we were eating and burst out laughing.
"You have a party in your mouth," Tim said, giggling.
And it was quite the fiesta. Stuffed tomatoes, delictable quiche, choice red wine, fresh dates and apricots, grilled pork-chops, and assorted cheeses nearly burst the stomachs of three young men. We were humbled buy the physical feast, but only filled by the words of our host, Marie-Jean.

My friend Teresa had arranged for our accommodations days before this lunch, and we had assumed the floor and sleeping bags would be the logical accommodations. After all, we're young and poor, we should earn it. But the week before we came, Teresa met a woman at church and mentioned to her that we were passing through Cavaillon via car. She offered her driveway for the car. Oh, and I have a few beds by the way . . . have they eaten? etc. etc. etc.
Four hours late, we pulled into the driveway of Marie-Jean's house at 9 p.m. on the 25th to see an elderly woman with gray hair standing in the driveway. She spoke warmly to Teresa in french and directed us to the side of the driveway.
"This woman's a saint," Brett said.
Never have I been so humbled by a single person, nor have I felt such a strong connection with an individual. I realized I was no longer a guest, but rather a newborn member of a family I had never known before. I was not staying in her house, but rather entering her sphere of influence. Everthing we did, said, thought, ate, breathed, slept and saw was in reference to her kindness. A consecrated widow, Marie-Jean took us in as one of her own, and without understanding any french myself, I knew I was adopted. I knew I could bring my family and friends back to this woman and have deep conversations without words. I felt changed just standing in her presence.
Despite being four hours late, she had patiently waited to serve us a four-course feast. We talked until two in the morning, and then took showers. She let us sleep as late as we wanted, and when we awoke, breakfast was waiting.
I should mention the only sight-seeing we did this whole day was to a church in the downtown area, and to a flower shop to buy our host some flowers. We spent the whole 24 hours with Marie-Jean eating, sleeping, and mostly talking. It was liberating.
I will never be the same. I cannot fully describe here what we talked about, it was too much to put into words and too beautiful, but if you ask me again when I return home, I'll be happy to relate it all.