I used to speak French, but the language is now lost in my head.
Quelle dommage.
Lately I have been thinking about what a tragedy that is. Language is beautiful, and the ability to reach across cultural border to speak with someone is an important, beautiful thing.
It's important to me, and I don't think it will become less valuable as I get older.
So, I have decided to re-learn French. It's been tough. Mostly I have been reviewing a lot of grammatical concepts that I've totally forgotten in the last few years.
It astounds me how easily one looses a language that it took years to cultivate.
Part of my love for language (any language, not just French) stems from my desire to understand and see other cultures and ways of life. How can you really and truly experience that if you can't speak to someone in his or her native tongue?
How can you understand their heart if their words are a mystery?
I'm fascinated by the work of linguists who travel deep into lands where there are people groups who speak an undocumented, unknown language. How fascinating to go in and live as a complete oddity among a people, and slowly begin to piece together the puzzles of their words.
It makes me think of ministries like Wycliff Translators who employ teams of linguists that translate the Bible into the native tongue of forgotten people groups. How wonderful, to give people the gift of God's word in their own tongue.
My love for language and communicating with new people is a part of me that I like.
It is a part of me that is good, and I will carry it forward with me and keep it strong.
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