monolinguality

Day 130 

I love language. I love listening to people speak in languages I can’t understand. I have a degree in linguistics. I’m studying to be a speech-language pathologist. I’ve studied Latin, Swahili, Greek (for three weeks . . . yeah, that didn’t go so well), Hebrew, Arabic, Kikuyu, and recently have begun dabbling in Spanish. Despite all this study, all the hours of vocab memorization, grammar practice, stilted conversations, and even learning the entirety of Dr. Seuss’ Hop on Pop in Arabic (which by the way, doesn’t flow as nicely as it does in the original), I have a confession to make.

How many languages do I speak fluently?

One. This one. English. I am monolingual.

Sure, I can have a simple conversation in my “best” second language, Swahili . . . but as I wrote in a message to my sister this morning: “Kiswahili yangu ni mgonjwa. Sana.” Which means “my Swahili is quite ill”. At least I think that’s what it means. It’s been a good eleven years since I took a Swahili class, nearly eight since I lived in Kenya. No wonder my Swahili is sickly.

I’d love to be bilingual someday, to seamlessly switch from language to language like my friend in high school who would talk on the phone, her words flowing from Swahili to English to Kikuyu and back again. But for now, just studying the inner mechanisms of language will have to do.

The study of linguistics goes back to the Tower of Babel, or shortly thereafter. God saw man’s incredible pride as they built the Tower to reach to heaven and “to make for [themselves] a name” (Genesis 11:4), and he went down and confused their language, scattering them across the earth. Before that time, there was no need for the study of languages, of phonemes, morphemes, syntax, semantics, and linguistic theory. There was just language, singular. You understood me, I understood you. I wonder how long it took after Babel for someone to hold up something and say, “mkate”, and for someone else to get it and say, “Oh, you mean bread!” 

Voila! Linguistics began, and continues to this day. I love it.

Onward.

Difficult people are just that, difficult. And when I’m dealing with someone who puts me down, demeans me, or hurts me, the best thing to do, easpecially in the moment of hurt or confusion, is remember who I am in Christ. With the focus on him, and not on my circumstances, I am at peace. The Lord has accepted me in Jesus Christ, and it does not matter what anyone else says or does. I am forever loved. What amazing grace.

Ephesians 1:6 “He has made us accepted in the Beloved.”

Psalm 56:4  “In God I have put my trust; I shall not be afraid. What can mere man do to me?”