We had our final distribution/going away party for the orphan kids today. Today was the last time I will meet with all these little kids that I have grown to love so dearly. So in honor of that we threw a party. There was an ox killing for the Muslims and a goat slaughtering for the Christians (each has to have their meat killed in the name of their religion). Like many times before, I prepared a story to tell them in the local language. In the past, I have told them many stories of Jesus. This time, I decided it was time to tell them my story, what Jesus has done for me, and why I came here.
Back in the States, I wrote, memorized, and delivered my share of speeches. However, giving a speech here in a different language is a whole different story. I looked back at one of my old speeches from high school the other day and was embarassed at some of the things I had said in it, how I had expressed myself. I even found a rather large grammatical error and thought, couldn’t somebody have helped a sister out before I delivered that thing in front of God knows who. Well, if I thought one grammatical error was embarassing, it was only preparation for giving speeches here where a whole string of incorrect sentences would proceed out of my mouth. It is amazingly frustrating that after living here almost two years, saying something correctly in the language can be so darn difficult. No matter how hard I work, how many people I get to help me, how much I study the speech, I fully realize that when I stand up to present it, it will not necessarily be correct. Oh, they will oooo and ahhh and listen intently and be gracious about my ability to speak the language, but I still know in my hear that it is far from correct. That is a humbling, humbling thing for me.
As I prepared for my little speech, I was reminded of the story of the widow’s offering. How she brought everything she had and gave it to God. It wasn’t much. It was paltry. It was pathetic really. But God was pleased. So goes my stories in another language. When it is all said and done and I have worked hard and studied and listened and memorized, my story still isn’t much. It is paltry. It is pathetic really. But I believe that the Father is pleased when I give it to Him – all that I can do – and He will take it and use it for His glory. Today, I gave the widow’s mite. It wasn’t much, but it was all I had to give. And I know that is all He asks.
