Lost in Translation

*What you are about to read is dreadfully long, and while there is not many things in life I will say this about, there is no shame in not finishing!!


When discerning my post-college plans, I was lured to JVI by the intrigue of what a new culture had to offer – food, landscape, dress, language. It sounds beautiful….a whole new world to explore….a romantic ideal that is anything but idyllic. When I set out for Chuuk, I was determined to learn the language and I think a year ago, if I knew what lay ahead of me, I might have just thrown in the towel at the start. After hours worth of flashcards, tape recorders, memorization, word lists, dictionaries, bible translations, questions galore, tutors, Chuukese class with Freshman, listening and unnatural conversation my language skills are still abysmal and reveal very little of how much I really do care, how hard I have worked just to be able to say the little that I do know, how much I want to be able to know them, how much I want them to know me for who I am, and not just the next white person passing through, how much I love them and how grateful I truly am for their acceptance.

Perhaps it’s not even so much knowing the language itself, as it is the principle of the matter…the fact that I can survive in Chuuk for a year, and JV’s have survived in Chuuk for countless years without ever learning to speak the language, means that someone – and by someone I mean nearly an entire state of people have gone out of their way to learn our language. Out of respect, sensitivity and gratitude, I feel as though I owe it to them to learn theirs… I feel as though in doing so, I can only hope to show them that I genuinely want to be a part of their lives as much as they have become a part of mine.

As hard as the struggle is, perhaps the (I’m going to steal a quote from the beautiful Murphdawg for this one) “Yay God!” in all of this is that I have not given up finding joy and value in the struggle…Even though I was frustrated to tears in Saipan, even though I make a complete fool out of myself multiple times a day, even though I often times want to put my head through a wall in hopes that the hole left by the impact might expedite the flow of information into my head, even though so many times I just want to stop where I am because it’s easier…. I know that this is the Lord’s way of pushing me and if this is the heaviest of my burdens during my two years out here, then I should not complain because I got off easy. Finding beauty in the process has allowed me to appreciate the baby steps and the tiny accomplishments of the day that to anyone else would be imperceptible, instead of measuring success by palpable satisfaction. It has been an even greater reminder of the beauty of the human spirit, who in spite of arrogance, cultural differences, assumptions and naivety continues to love unconditionally. The desultory journey has led me down perhaps what has been the most humbling road I’ve ever traversed, ultimately blurring the line between privileged and poor such that I am in no position to look upon anyone with condescension. In fact, I almost expect them to look at ME disdainfully as I make a mockery of the language in my weak attempts to fumble through a few sentences…..And the “Yay God!” in that, is that they don’t. In spite of my mistakes, my disgrace and my inadequacy they don’t. My frustration and disappointment in myself more often than not comes from within and is compounded by the need to repay their generosity, patience and love in the only way I know how. Unfortunately, it is a gift that I cannot requite with the grace and abundance with which it is bestowed.