Translation


When I was in about 2nd grade we still printed. We weren't taught cursive until 4th grade. Teachers would write letters to our parents or to each other in cursive because they didn't think we could read it. Little did they know, I could read it. I'd read about other kids, I'd read about myself. They thought they were passing something over on me.

When I was 15 I worked in a Marina. There were a group of guys who came in and were speaking Arabic to each other (about me) which was a mistake because I grew up in East Dearborn and could pick up on enough words that I could understand what they were saying, and then they blew right past the line and said something horrible about me. In about 20 seconds, I managed to kick them out of the store, in Arabic, using a lot of words that bare no repeating.

Now, I am old, and I work with people from Mexico. I can barely speak a word of Spanish, outside of Hola, Como Estas, Que Pasa, Taco, Burrito, and Quesidilla. But I can totally understand it, I can read it. I guess those 3 years of Spanish in High school really did pay off because I know if they are bulling me or if they are telling the truth when they speak to each other.

The most important translation in my life is the translating I do to hear the people in my life say "I don't feel loved" or "I don't fit in" or any number of other things, including "I love you" in and out of my own home. It's the kind of translation that comes from wisdom, what are they really saying. I still miss some things, but I pray for wisdom for the hand to reach out these people who need love, and need Jesus.

Psalm 55:1-2 1 Listen to my prayer, O God,
do not ignore my plea;
2 hear me and answer me.
My thoughts trouble me and I am distraught
Unspoken Prayer Request: I do not want to post it on my blog, but if you send me an email, I will tell you about it... Please pray that satan's plans be bound, and that God's will prevails.

Comments

KayMac said…
Good post. What you are describing at the bottom is called discernment and it is definately a gift!
John Cowart said…
Hi Margie,
When I lived in D.C. I had a friend from Estonia. She was on a bus when two men got on and began discussing her in Estonian. Come time to get off, she turned to them and ask what kind of manners their mothers had taught them. She embarrassed them to no end by addressing them in that obscure language which few people speak.