John and I have been referring people to the book The Five Love Languages for decades. It was our good fortune to hear the author speak at a conference. The notion of grasping how someone else hears messages of love made sense.
But the metaphor was largely wasted on me. The only experience I had with other languages was pig Latin and a dialogue my sister made up called queggerleggangueggage.
My daughters tell me that there are seven thousand languages, and every two weeks one is forgotten. At the United Nations in Geneva we saw a plaque with eight included-
Spanish, French, Italian, English, Arabic, Chinese, German, and Russian. Which happen to be the ones Hope and Aurelle have been studying.
As we traveled, I enjoyed observing people. But my inability to understand them was a barrier. Then one time I tried anyway. We were on a bus in Switzerland and I took a chance with a woman squished next to me.
"My name is Lori." I tossed it out like a message in a bottle.
"I am Anna," she smiled. I learned that she speaks five languages, and has worked for the International Red Cross for years. She lived in Congo, and Afghanistan, providing food and medical
supplies. Now she is at the headquarters, sending younger people out.
"Americans are always the first to give money," she said kindly, as if I had personally signed checks.
What astounds me about the ubiquitousness of multiple speakers is the
effort involved. In contrast to the darling children who chattered in Italian and French as easily as they laughed, grown ups have to put in effort. Deciphering conjugations and tenses requires attention, and gymnastics of the tongue. Or in the absence of those fickle endings in Chinese, a would be reader must memorize thousands of pictures.
This was the comparison Gary
Chapman was after in his books. Stepping out of my own mindset with curiosity about someone else's emotional culture is a big ask. But the wonder of genuine connection is waiting for us.