Speaking My Language

My (a) has lots of friends.  But, I often hear him rambling to them about the things he likes and they have no idea what he is talking about.  He wants to play rodeo, he wants to talk about feeding cows and doing chores- but most of his friends have no idea what he is talking about, they simply don’t “speak his language.”  Every now and then, he gets the chance to play with another kiddo his age who DOES understand him, and to me, it is the most precious thing to watch.

Over the weekend, the boys and I made a trip to Indiana to visit friends and family.  While we were there, we spent a few hours at a rodeo clinic my brother-in-love was helping teach, and (a) got to play with another boy his age who was also thrilled to be running around in boots, climbing on the rodeo dummies, and discussing horses and events.  (a) was over the moon!  His whole body language and style of play changes when he plays with someone who “speaks his language.”  The smile on his face is a little bigger and getting him to leave is nearly impossible.

I have to admit, sometimes in life I feel the same way.  While I have never had the privilege of traveling overseas, I have been in some situations where I felt like no one else “spoke my language.”  It can be hard to feel comfortable, it can be hard to relate, and sometimes even surrounded by people, you can feel all alone.  While I realize it is often important to step out of your comfort zone, and it is sometimes necessary to learn a new “language”, other times, it can be just as important to find a group of like-minded people for support.

By Sunday morning of our trip, I was getting tired of driving.  I had already done several hundred miles in the car as the only adult with two little (often impatient) travelers, but I had promised myself I was going to get us up and ready early enough to drive the 60+ miles from my parents’ house to our church home in Indiana for worship. I had then made lunch plans with our closest friends and all their kiddos.  My road-weary body almost got the best of me and I began to have thoughts of backing out, but I didn’t… and as the day progressed, I was SO glad I had made the trip.  I was incredibly blessed to visit with so many wonderful friends at church- friends who had loved us and prayed for us through our ministry transition, worshiping with the body who put our hearts back together when we were hurt… then sharing the afternoon with dear friends who speak my language.  While our little loves played together, we talked faith and parenting, jobs, and “life.”  One by one, the kiddos had little meltdowns as we visited long past everyone’s nap time, and I realized it was a rare occasion where I didn’t feel stressed out or embarrassed by that- because these friends speak my language.  I didn’t have to apologize for his exhausted behavior or the baby’s hungry crying- our kids are all in the same stages, we speak the same language. 

As we finally got ready to leave, I commented on how beautiful and heartbreaking these visits are for me.  While it breaks my heart that we don’t see each other as often as we used to, it is a precious reminder of how much love and life our four families share.  Because we speak the same language, we can go months without seeing each other yet pick right back up where we left off. 

It was a precious reminder my heart needed, that we were made to live in community.  We can’t survive on our own, we were never meant to.  We need a support system to encourage us in our faith, in our life, we need people who “speak our language.”

“All the believers were together and had everything in common.  They sold property and possessions to give to anyone who had need.  Every day they continued to meet together in the temple courts.  They broke bread in their homes and ate together with glad and sincere hearts, praising God and enjoying the favor of all people.  And the Lord added to their number daily those who were being saved.” Acts 2: 44-47