From “19 Varieties of Gazelle”

“Arabic”

The man with laughing eyes stopped smiling
to say, “Until you speak Arabic,
you will not understand pain.”

Something to do with the back of the head,
an Arab carries sorrow in the back of the head
that only language cracks, the thrum of stones

weeping, grating hinge on an old metal gate.
“Once you know,” he whispered, “you can
enter the room
whenever you need to. Music heard
from a distance,

the slapped drum of a stranger’s wedding,
wells up inside your skin, inside rain, a thousand
pulsing tongues. You are changed.”

Outside, the snow had finally stopped.
In a land where snow rarely falls,
we had felt our days grow white and still.

I thought pain had no tongue. Or every tongue
at once, supreme translator, sieve. I admit my
shame. To live on the brink of Arabic, tugging

its rich threads without understanding
how to weave the rug… I have no gift.
The sound, but not the sense.

I kept looking over his shoulder for someone else
to talk to, recalling my dying friend
who only scrawled
I can’t write. What good would any grammar
have been

to her then? I touched his arm, held it hard,
which sometimes you don’t do in the Middle East,
and said, I’ll work on it, feeling sad

for his good strict heart, but later in the slick street
hailed a taxi by shouting Pain! and it stopped
in every language and opened its doors.

(Naomi Shihab Nye)

An Exercise in Self-Discipline

In my linguistics class, there is this girl.

And believe me – there is always one of these girls.

I tried so hard. I bit my tongue. I told myself that her awkwardness, her loudness, her persistent obliviousness to the fact that everyone in the class was tittering maliciously at every ignorant thing that came out of her mouth; all of these things were part of the way God made her. I didn’t even make so much as a peep when we were discussing the sad statistic that, on average, one language becomes extinct every two weeks, and she raised her hand to inflict impart this particular gem:

“But couldn’t it also be considered a good thing when a language goes extinct? I mean, it just means that they’ve found a better way to communicate, and their language just isn’t useful anymore. Why keep using a dying language when they’ve realized that everyone speaks English because it’s more useful, so they should just learn English so they can talk to everyone else?”

I didn’t argue, I didn’t mutter anything rude under my breath, and I didn’t even make that derisive little scoffing noise that drives everyone nuts and takes so much stupid effort to reign in. (I didn’t manage to harness my internal monologue quite as well, but I can only work on so many things at once.)

Finally, praise Jesus, I made it through every agonizing, stupid-comment-filled minute of the period and hauled hiney to my next class, which is a general literature survey that starts fifteen minutes later in another building. As you can probably guess, I had barely chosen a seat and settled into it before she walked in…

This semester will give me stomach ulcers. I just know it.

Language Jokes

Last week, I was explaining the concept of the Muslim shahada to my best friend and his family. I recited it for them in Arabic, and Michael – with his typical deadpan, unexpected humor – asked, “Do you speak Arabic with a French accent?”

I braced myself. “No. Why?”

“Because I’m pretty sure you just said wa Muhammad ras-ooh la la!”

Gratitude

Lately, I’ve tried to practice being grateful for the little things.

Sunsets, kisses, beaches, flowers, good inkpens, bandanas, fishing, unbroken bones, clean water, crochet hooks, laughter, late-night conversations, pumpkin pie, “The Lion King”, good books, music…

…little tree frogs in unexpected places…

…and best friends.

It’s true that if you thank God for every good thing, no matter how small, it will become easier and more natural to thank Him even for the bad things.

You’ll also find that those “little things” you take for granted and sometimes forget to be thankful for are, in fact, not so little at all; and as you consciously draw your attention to them and to the patient, generous God who put them into your life, you realize that they are the joy of your heart and the very things which make that life worth living.