There are two things you need to know before I get to the punch line of this post.
One is that I carry nothing when I visit Hot Springs.
Just ask anyone who's visited. As a gesture of love and respect, there's always a scramble between the children as to who gets to carry our stuff - bags, Bibles, computers, anything - back to our rooms. Sometimes I can lose track of who took what. Remember this.
The other thing you need to know is that despite my valiant and persistent efforts over the past eleven years, I experience a fair degree of despair at ever reallmy being able to master the Thai language. I make a good go of it. I seem to be understanding more, and it seems that I am understood more each time I go. And likely, if you don't know Thai and were to listen in on my conversations, you might even be slightly impressed. Maybe.
But the real truth is, most of the time, I talk like I'm two. Being with my grandson Jayden, who is two, makes me realize, with a sigh, what I must sound like when I speak Thai. "Me did it!" "Kalking (talking) about?" "Cow book, Gramma!" Like that.
I can more or less make myself understood. I can "read" a little bit. And if I practice long and hard and have tons of help, I can actually preach a sermon from notes. But it's stumbling and grammatically clumsy, and tonally incorrect a lot of the time,. Often as not I struggle with basic vocabulary. When this happens, I might say all the words in a sentence in Thai, but just insert the English word where I don't know the Thai word, and hope that someone will catch it in context. Works pretty well a lot of the time. But I still struggle.
To be fair, I only got started in Thai when I was 51. Who attempts a new language, a tonal language, a language with a completely different script at the age of 51? Younger people who have come with me and spent far less time submerged in the language can rattle off sentences like nobody's business. But I speak baby talk most of the time. And sometimes I make embarrassing mistakes.
During a time when we needed to stay at the guest house next door, I always kept my key in the same little pocket of the backpack that I used to carry things back and forth. On this particular night, I had sort of lost track of who exactly had my backpack. That's why, when the truck pulled up to the little porch in front of my little room, I did not have my key.
That day we had been to a market. Plus, the evening's Bible lesson had required quite a few props and such. So, as well as my backpack, there were my purchases, and my purse, and the bag of teaching supplies. I had been eagerly relieved of every one of these, back in the meeting room. And, just because it's fun, all the kids had climbed into the back of the truck for the two minute ride down the road and up the driveway to the guest house.
Now that we were unloading, I wasn't sure where my key was. That's when I asked a most inappropriate question.
"Chan [key] you-tee nai?" That's 'Where's my key?" with the English word inserted.
The happy chatter hushed. Eyes grew wide with a degree of shock and confusion. It was one of those 'uh oh' moments when you're in a different culture, and you know something's wrong, but you can't quite figure out what.
"Katort, ka" I said, excusing myself. Whatever I had just said, it probably wouldn't hurt to apologize.
And then, all in English, "I don't know where my key is." And I mimed turning a key in a lock.
Oh! Yupa understood with a big grin. She explained, ever so politely, that in Thai the word "key" said in a low tone, as I had done, is a rather rude word for, well, poop. So basically what I had asked, in quite a coarse kind of way was, "Where's my s**t?" And if you're slightly uncomfortable with me writing it out like that, just think of how uncomfortable I was realizing what I had said!!
I put my hand over my mouth and apologized again. And again. (You can't be too polite in Thailand.) And I would have kept on apologizing except Yupa started laughing and all the kids joined in and we all had a good laugh at Ahjahn Ruth's unfortunate mistake. Gringjai (keep the harmony) and all that.
As a language learning moment, it was effective. I have no problem since then remembering that the word for 'key' is "koon-je". And I'm even careful how I say the English word "key" when it comes up in conversation. Believe me.
And believe me when I say that for all the fascination I have with linguistics, and the little advancements I see from time to time, and even with all the grace shown to me as I learn and sometimes make rude mistakes, it sometimes frustrates me. No. It humiliates me. Learning another language, when I have to work at it as hard as I do, makes me feel stupid, foolish. I have self-doubt. Sometimes I wonder if I'm just fooling myself, thinking I can do this. Why am I working so hard at something I will likely never master?
And then I come across a very simple sentence, buried in the reading I'm doing for my current course of study. I'm exploring Paul's dual role as missionary-pastor, and in a book recommended by my supervising professor, there's this.
"There are few more humbling, affirming, submissive, and loving gestures than to learn another's vernacular speech." (1).
Ah yes. There's that.
I'm reminded of a conversation with Philip, a talented young Thai with a good grasp of English. He said that when Western people (farangs) come to Thailand for work or longer term ministry, and make no effort to learn Thai, it communicates a sense of superiority. Here he opened his hands palms down and held one hand over the other. He thanked me for making the effort and thereby demonstrating that the Thai language, and by default then, Thai people, are worthy of that effort; that we are equals. And here he held his hands side by side.
Of course, this communication of equality goes far beyond language learning. It even goes beyond learning the culture, as important as that is as well. It's more about an attitude, a genuine understanding of and engagement in the kind of reciprocity that, come to think of it, makes for all my best relationships.
So I guess I will continue to press my now 62 year old brain into this. Let the younger ones outstrip me. I'll put aside my ego and keep plugging. I will do a little bit every day. I will memorize what Scripture verses I can. I will learn the songs and practice the tones and write out the vocab in my little pink book.
And I will remember that this is all done in the name of an utterly astonishing God who, in loving affirmation, at one point in history, humbled Himself enough, and submitted Himself to actually become a two year old learning the human vernacular of speech. Did not regard equality with God a thing to be grasped (Philippians 2:6).
Maybe one day I'll get a handle of Thai syntax.
But this.
This I will never understand.
Except that in some way, it becomes a mysterious motivation for my own incarnational life-work.
(1) From Pastor: The Theology and Practice of Ordained Ministry, chapter 11 "The Pastor as Lead Missionary" by William H. Willimond, quoting missiologist Lamin Sanneh.
