Universal Language

They say that music is the universal language.
Well I've never understood language barriers like I have since I got to Burkina Faso.  It frustrates me because I'm chatty and I want SO much to talk to all the people who surround me when I ride my bike across town.  I want to ask them about themselves.  I want to invite them to church.  I want to explain why I'm on a bicycle trying to hard to be like them, to be a part of them.  At first I thought we weren't communicating at all.  But this week I began to see it differently. 

At church last week,  the pastor began service by saying that he was thankful for the missionaries, Ken and Gin, and that he was thankful for the new young missionary lady that was visiting from the States.  Because he was talking about me, Gin leaned over to translate.  He said, "We are thankful for our new friend, whom we love already!"  I turned a huge smile to the congregation as the all clapped and cheered in agreement, and he continued, "And we can tell that she loves us, too.  And it is obvious that she loves our children.  We have been observing her as she watches our children, and we can see that she loves our children very much."  And then he asked me, via Ken as translator, to "come and speak to our children."  I had nothing prepared, but as I walked to the group of children and looked into their beautiful faces,  I decided to tell them the story of Samuel, how he was a great prophet who was called of God when he was just a little boy.  I told them that God loves children and he speaks to children.  I told them that God loves them, that I love them, and that I want them to love God with all their hearts.  As I spoke, I couldn't help but reach out and run my hand over their heads and caress their sweet soft faces, smiling without even realizing it.

When I sat down, one tiny little boy ran over and threw himself in my lap, saying not a word but looking up at me with laughing eyes that said, "Hi! I like you, white lady!" I laughed and kissed him and told him that I loved him.  He toddled over and took his sister's hand and brought her to me, as well.  On the drive home, the three little boys who ride with us took it upon themselves to give me a vocabulary lesson in French and in Moree.  They made me repeat after them until I sounded just like them, and squealed in laughter when I pronounced something incorrectly, sometimes collapsing into giggles and patting my arms and hands.  When they got tired of that, little Robert silently took my hand to hold in both of his and laid his head on my shoulder.  I decided that there wasn't another place in the whole world that I would rather be. 

They say that the universal language is music.  I disagree.  I say it's love.