Native English-speakers use so many words. Millions of them. We have formal and slang words. We often have several different words to describe the same emotion or object. We even invent words -- and use them (YOLO, bae -- and so on)! But for all our words, I still occasionally find that even my complex English can fall to its knees in the wake of the simplest word spoken in another language. Like tonight.
For awhile now, I have been learning Spanish as I walk forward into preparation for international work and ministry, which I believe God is calling me to do with my life. (For more on how that came about, click here.)
Spanish is a beautiful language. It is complex yet gracefully simple. I am now at the point where I can converse [very simply] with native speakers (who are remarkably patient with me), and few things give me more joy.
Because I am learning, my brain hears a string of Spanish words and then whirrs into action, hastily calculating, translating, and rearranging the Spanish words until they make sense to me in English. When I understand the meaning in English, I then re-arrange, re-translate, and "mentally file" the Spanish phrase -- successfully learned. (Learning is exhausting sometimes.)
However, sometimes it takes just one word to stop me in my tracks.
Tonight I was listening to worship in Spanish, and I was thrilled by how easily and quickly my mind was recognizing and understanding the words. I felt such freedom to worship in my new second language!
The music continued, "Espero aqui . . . ."
My brain snagged, and the mental hole ripped open wider and wider as I continued to translate the rest of the sentence, but simultaneously remain fixated on that one word.
Espero.
Something wasn't quite right. I knew that word, didn't I? I quickly identified what the problem was. Why my brain couldn't translate it immediately.
It has more than one meaning.
I don't often encounter Spanish words that have more than one meaning (as is common in English). Maybe it's because I'm not that advanced yet, but this word threw me for a loop.
Espero is the I-form of the verb Esperar, which means, "to wait." It also means, "to hope."
I wasn't sure whether to translate "espero" as "I wait", or "I hope". And just like that, I felt God smile in my heart. Exactly, He seemed to say.
English-speakers have differentiated between the two words, giving them not only different names but dissimilar meanings and associations. But in Spanish, the two actions are represented by one word, one concept. If I am waiting for God to move, Espero. If I am hoping for God to move, Espero.
In most cases, waiting is a form of hoping. And sometimes, hoping does mean waiting. I know for a fact that God is calling me to begin treating waiting and hoping as the same verb. As Esperar.
This summer, a friend told me that there is little point in "trusting God" if hope is not attached to that trust. Hopeless "trust" is really just "resignation" wearing a Christian mask. How often I have succumbed to resignation in my faith-walk, convinced that God might show Himself good in my life someday, but until then, I couldn't expect a life of abundance or joyful intimacy with God -- or a faith that "worked." Sometimes I find it ironic that many Christians feel the same way, yet spend their whole lives trying to convince others to adopt a faith that isn't even "working" for them!
Has life dealt you some blows? Do you owe the enemy a few? I sure do. And I want to hit him hard when I do. This leads me to ask you a few questions that I've already asked myself:
1. Do you believe God is good?
2. Do you believe that God's heart toward you is good?
3. Do you believe that God will be good . . . to you?
4. Do you believe that God will do what He says He will do?
God hasn't just told us that we can trust Him. He's shown us. I don't have to look far to know with conviction that God can take the ugliest mess, the most searing pain, and the deepest darkness . . . and completely transform them into radiant beauty, gentle wisdom, and triumphant healing. This God can raise hope from the ashes of shattered dreams. He can make clear roadways where there appear to be only brick walls. He can bring monsoon rains to desert souls, and suddenly, tangibly fulfill promises long-awaited. This God can most definitely be trusted. When He speaks a word, He will bring it about.
If you are in a waiting season, how would you characterize your waiting? Do you wait with resignation? Do you wait with bitterness or despair? Would you dare to say, "I wait with hope?" Do you trust Him enough to go before Him, nestle into His everlasting arms, and whisper, "Espero"?
I have decided that life without hope in God is no life at all. With God's help to keep my heart strong during seasons of waiting, I will continue to say, "¡Espero!" May He breathe hope into you as well.
Dios contigo. <3
