Bonjour à tous!
I'm absolutely thrilled to be starting this blog, and I hope you are as eager to read it as I am to write it. But where are my manners? I should introduce myself. My name is Tiffany, or, in most Latin American countries, Éstephanie, or, as they say here in France, Stéphanie. You may call me Tiffany though, since that is the name my mama gave me. I was named after a Buddhist monk. True story. Enough on that, though. I am twenty-four years old. I'm an artist. I'm trilingual. I have traveled to around thirty countries. I love Jesus. My favorite color is robin's egg blue.
& I've got big dreams.
This blog is about one in particular that I'm going to share with you. Cue contemplative, but quirky acoustic flashback music: It all began when I was eighteen years old. Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, I was set to head to UCLA as a Fine Arts student. It was me, the world, and my paintbrush. The summer after my senior year in high school, I went on a backpacking trip to Europe with a close friend who was in theatre with me. It was the first time that I went to western Europe and also the first time I flew without family. It was my first time in Paris, and it was our second stop. We only stayed a total of three days, but she had me at 'bonjour.' Needless to say, it was unfair to all the subsequent countries we visited, because Paris had already won me over. I loved the language, the romance, the beauty. . .
We came home with a lot of stories and a lot of memories. As I began my first year, I indulged in the idea of studying abroad. Guess where? I began to take French classes as soon as I had the time. I loved it. Before I knew it, I was in my favorite city again, studying film photography for the summer. By the beginning of the next school year, I was back in Los Angeles. I was studying with some friends one night, and someone asked the question, "What's your biggest dream?" I let the question sink into my brain like ink into paper. The people before me were answering, so I had time to think about it. I thought about the most outrageous, out-of-reach, ridiculous, but breathtakingly wonderful idea I could think of.
"I want to open a French bakery one day."
People ooh'ed and ahh'ed. After all, it was only a dream. How far could I take that anyway? Life continued as usual. I was getting more serious about really refining my French and even went back to Paris two more times. The last time was another summer gig before my senior year. I was going to apprentice at a real Parisian bakery. Don't worry, it sounds a lot more glamorous than it was. I faced a lot of challenges while I was there, but I grew and learned a lot from that experience.
Well, so far, everything seemed to be going smoothly and on track. I was so close that I could practically taste it. My bakery. As my senior year came to close, I was in the midst of applying to pastry school in France. I had all my documents ready to go, and I had my heart set.
Except. . .
Something happened. . . I was derailed by a voice. I couldn't get The World Race out of my mind. I needed to go, I just needed to. The World Race is a series of month-long Christian missions trips that takes you to 11 countries in 11 months (www.theworldrace.org). By the time I had decided to go on the Race, I had been following Christ for almost 5 years. Prior to my decision, I had never even had the desire to go on missions. It never crossed my mind. I didn't see myself as giving enough, compassionate enough, or saintly enough. I liked life's comforts. You can imagine, then, my own shock, when I just had this call to go out of nowhere. I was busying writing my own blueprints, and God just slammed down the inkwell and smeared it all.
I'm absolutely thrilled to be starting this blog, and I hope you are as eager to read it as I am to write it. But where are my manners? I should introduce myself. My name is Tiffany, or, in most Latin American countries, Éstephanie, or, as they say here in France, Stéphanie. You may call me Tiffany though, since that is the name my mama gave me. I was named after a Buddhist monk. True story. Enough on that, though. I am twenty-four years old. I'm an artist. I'm trilingual. I have traveled to around thirty countries. I love Jesus. My favorite color is robin's egg blue.
& I've got big dreams.
This blog is about one in particular that I'm going to share with you. Cue contemplative, but quirky acoustic flashback music: It all began when I was eighteen years old. Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, I was set to head to UCLA as a Fine Arts student. It was me, the world, and my paintbrush. The summer after my senior year in high school, I went on a backpacking trip to Europe with a close friend who was in theatre with me. It was the first time that I went to western Europe and also the first time I flew without family. It was my first time in Paris, and it was our second stop. We only stayed a total of three days, but she had me at 'bonjour.' Needless to say, it was unfair to all the subsequent countries we visited, because Paris had already won me over. I loved the language, the romance, the beauty. . .
We came home with a lot of stories and a lot of memories. As I began my first year, I indulged in the idea of studying abroad. Guess where? I began to take French classes as soon as I had the time. I loved it. Before I knew it, I was in my favorite city again, studying film photography for the summer. By the beginning of the next school year, I was back in Los Angeles. I was studying with some friends one night, and someone asked the question, "What's your biggest dream?" I let the question sink into my brain like ink into paper. The people before me were answering, so I had time to think about it. I thought about the most outrageous, out-of-reach, ridiculous, but breathtakingly wonderful idea I could think of.
"I want to open a French bakery one day."
People ooh'ed and ahh'ed. After all, it was only a dream. How far could I take that anyway? Life continued as usual. I was getting more serious about really refining my French and even went back to Paris two more times. The last time was another summer gig before my senior year. I was going to apprentice at a real Parisian bakery. Don't worry, it sounds a lot more glamorous than it was. I faced a lot of challenges while I was there, but I grew and learned a lot from that experience.
Summer 2010 at La Tradition Boulangerie
My little sketches to help me remember the names of all our breads & viennoiseries!
The team at the bakery & me in the middle
Well, so far, everything seemed to be going smoothly and on track. I was so close that I could practically taste it. My bakery. As my senior year came to close, I was in the midst of applying to pastry school in France. I had all my documents ready to go, and I had my heart set.
Except. . .
Something happened. . . I was derailed by a voice. I couldn't get The World Race out of my mind. I needed to go, I just needed to. The World Race is a series of month-long Christian missions trips that takes you to 11 countries in 11 months (www.theworldrace.org). By the time I had decided to go on the Race, I had been following Christ for almost 5 years. Prior to my decision, I had never even had the desire to go on missions. It never crossed my mind. I didn't see myself as giving enough, compassionate enough, or saintly enough. I liked life's comforts. You can imagine, then, my own shock, when I just had this call to go out of nowhere. I was busying writing my own blueprints, and God just slammed down the inkwell and smeared it all.
The Race changed my life. It changed the way that I saw the world, God, His people, and most of all, it changed the way I saw myself. It was a year of brokenness and inspiring, miraculous, devastating, real, experiences that are continuing to shape me, even today. When I came home, I was a wreck. Not only was I completely at a loss for what to do with my future, now that I've been an eyewitness to the sh*t that goes on in the world, but I was just worn down. Exhausted. Drained. Lacking a community on the home-front, in addition to losing a friend the same week that I was still getting over jetlag sent me into a depression so crippling that it paralyzed me from moving forward.
Don't worry, the story certainly doesn't end there. God had bigger plans for me. What about pastry school? Once I got home, it was still in the back of my mind, but I honestly lacked the self-confidence and the drive to even pursue it any longer. I felt this yoke of guilt weigh heavy around my neck trying to pursue something so seemingly selfish when I had just spent a year living in areas where the "tasty treat" was sautéed termites. Pastry, Tiffany? Paris, Tiffany? Forget it. That was a dream. Come back to reality.
I attended a conference/debrief for the World Race about 2 months after coming home. At that point, my depression had only worsened and I need something, anything. It was at this debrief that the staff encouraged us to, guess what? Follow our dreams. Well, okay. We listened to each other's dreams. People had ideas to go into Cambodia and Thailand to fight human trafficking. People wanted to start discipleship programs. People wanted to create an organization that focused on sustainability and business start-ups in developing countries.
Dangit. I just want to bake.
Let me just go over here, to this corner, with all the less saintly who want to work at Macy's for their 25% employee discount. Is that wrong? Is it wrong to have a passion that doesn't even seem that significant in the larger scheme of things? I can't engineer a flux capacitor for you, but I can do a pretty good rendition of Mickey Mouse using oil paints. I could also bake you a mean loaf of banana bread. So now what? I was at an impasse. How do I merge all these passions of mine? My heart broke for the kids that we cared for -- who hadn't much in the world, and yet on the other hand I had this dream I couldn't let go of. I hadn't really an answer at that point, but I was struggling.
Well I had sent in my application for Ferrandi in early December of 2012, and then I got myself on a plane to go to Spain in January. SPAIN?! Random. Yes, it was kind of random. At the same debrief/conference that I had mentioned earlier, there were a few orgs that had done some plugs for their program offerings. G42 was one of them. It was something that caught my attention immediately. They described it as a "Leadership School" focusing on discipleship & personal mentoring. They offered different tracks within their program -- one of them, included business. It seemed like a good use of my time to study a little bit of business if I was still going to do this bakery thing, albeit somewhat sluggishly.
I'm so glad I went. Turns out I didn't really learn that much about business, but I did learn a lifetime's worth of lessons in six months. If the Race changed my life in that it turned it upside down, G42 turned it rightside up again. I finally felt like myself again. I was shown the importance of friendship, relationship, and commitment to your word. Values like integrity, character, excellence, and fighting the good fight were drilled into me.
Oh, &, I found out I got into pastry school :)
Excuse the French. Ahem.
One of my best revelations of all, though, my dear friends? It's not my dream, it's God's. Therefore, He will do everything in His power to make it happen, and I just need to be faithful. Luckily the Dude's got a lot of power in His back pocket. I don't have to worry about failing, or about not doing the right thing or making the right decision. I just have to have the heart.
I read a blog entry of a friend's a little while ago that talked about Jesus having an occupation before He was, you know, revealed as the Son of God: Savior of the Universe. (No big deal) He was a carpenter. He could have been doing EVERYTHING else in the 30 years that He was in that vocation. He could have started an orphanage. He could have began a food stamp program, or made steps into bettering humanity. But you know what? He didn't. He made chairs. People sat on these chairs. That's betterment, kinda, right? He made tables. People put stuff on the tables. Well here's my thought: if God can be content (no, I mean, truly content) in doing carpentry for a living, and doing it with excellence, FULL KNOWING that He had a higher calling, then I'm okay with baking my heart out until He tells me to stop.
Et voîlà.
That's how this all started, and that's how it's going to continue. The final piece of the puzzle! While I was at G42, I finally realized how I could merge my passion for baking and my passion for relationships. I want kids who were never allowed to have a childhood to have one. I want them to feel celebrated, loved, and special. I want to look at a motherless and/or fatherless child in the eye and say, "Here. I made this especially for you. You, who have had to share everything. You, who are so precious, words couldn't even begin to define how much." I will slap those termites out of your hands and replace it with a petite brioche st. genies.
And that's why I've partnered with Jenny Meunier, my dear, dear, Canadian friend with a heart of a nimbus cloud. She's planning on starting a children's home in Uganda, and I would like our goodies to partially sponsor her kids, as well as yearly visits to celebrate their birthdays!!!
So here's to all you dreamers.
Do you think it can happen?
Follow me this year as I make my way through one of my biggest dreams: attending French pastry school, one choquette at a time.
