I would guess that it is pretty easy to see that I am a gringa. My family is 100% Western European and have been primarily English speaking for many generations. We speak English and only English at home and before this trip, I had never been out of the country, let alone a Spanish speaking country. All this being said, I have found myself translating quite a bit here in Ecuador and I would like to share how and why.
My school that I attended from 7th through 12th grade prioritized foreign language. In elementary grades through 8th grade, Spanish was a required course. In High School, they required three years of a foreign language. So I took my two years of Spanish in Jr. High, thinking nothing of it. I continued on taking Spanish for another required two years in high school. At that point, I had a choice between French or another year of Spanish – which would be a fairly hard class. I didn’t know that the Lord was at work at this point, but looking back, I realize that in this seemingly meaningless choice, He was stoking a passion in me. I chose to take another year. That was the year I fell in love with the language. The following year, I begged administration to set up a Spanish V class that was self-led, something that they didn’t offer at that time. They granted my wish and I graduated high school with a strong desire to be completely fluent.
They say hindsight is 20/20 and I would agree with that. I wouldn’t have guessed that God was working on my future through a high school class schedule, but of course He was. That’s who God is. I am nowhere near fluent, but because God gave me a passion to learn back in school, I have been able to make connections that I never imagined possible.
I had been working twice a week at Camp Hope, a facility for children with disabilities for weeks. My squad leader, Angelica, is a fluent Spanish speaker but she always happened to be doing administrative work on the days that we went, so I was the default translator. We got by for weeks between the Secretary and I communicating through my broken Spanish, but I never even asked her name until the last day before midpoint debrief. I finished work early so I went up and talked with her. She told me about her moving from Venezuela, about all of the children forced to stay at home without resources, and the sorrow of having a completely empty facility that is normally bustling with life. The Lord gave me a gift that I was overlooking before, and if my six years of Spanish were all just so I could hear that woman’s heart, it was worth it.
So I praise the Lord for giving us languages that make us unique and beautiful. I praise him for giving me the passion and capacity to learn so that I can make these connections with people. I am so excited to see what else God wants to show me over the next six weeks that I am here. And kids, pay attention to your foreign language teachers.
