It has been five years now, but I still remember how it felt. It happened more than once while I served in West Africa as a missionary, but it always caught me off guard. I would be working out in the bush, a long long way from anyone that could, or at least should, be able to speak English. And yet, in the middle of a conversation, I would hear it… a simple, “thank you.” Perhaps it was the response to some service I had preformed, bringing formula out to the bush for a baby who had lost her mother or giving someone a ride to another village, but it was always profound to hear gratitude expressed to me in my own language when these folk had no reason to know it.
Language is a big deal. Most American’s never experience a world where everyone can communicate except them. It is tough. And it makes the sound of familiar words so sweet. There is a reason it is called a heart language… Continue Reading: