What Did He Just Say?

In high school, I spent almost a year raising money to travel to Nice, France. I sold oranges and grapefruits. I peddled crab feed tickets. I worked every angle I could. The city of Nice covered lodging, most meals, and local travel. All we had to pay for was airfare, lunch, and whatever extras we wanted. We were going to perform almost every day. I wasn’t about to miss that.

Since I had taken French, I figured I should show up prepared. So I memorized phrases: how to ask for directions, respond to different situations, and even what to say if someone sprayed that stringy confetti right at my face. (Apparently, that’s a real thing.)

And when it finally happened, confetti everywhere, I was ready. I rattled off my practiced line in French, proud of how naturally it came out.

The guy just stared at me. Then he turned to his friend and said, in perfect English,

“What did he just say?”

So much for all that practice.

And that wasn’t the only time I missed the mark. I ultimately failed at ordering food at McDonald’s in Nice. I thought I knew the vocabulary, but my accent was way off, or I spoke too slowly. Either way, it didn’t work.

Still, I made it through. I could get around the city, ride the trains, and understand more than I could say. We traveled from Paris to Nice and a few places in between. The difference in people stood out. In Paris, folks were cold and impatient. But everywhere else (especially in Nice), they were kind, warm, and welcoming.

The whole thing stuck with me.

I had worked so hard to raise money and memorize words. I had prepared and planned. And in the end, the best parts of that trip didn’t come from what I had mastered. They came from unexpected grace, the people who helped, the smiles I didn’t deserve, and how things worked even when I couldn’t say them right.

That experience comes to mind every time I read Acts 2.

The streets of Jerusalem were packed. Jews from every nation under heaven were there, each with a different language and cultural background. Then the Holy Spirit came, the apostles started speaking, and everyone understood.

“And at this sound the multitude came together, and they were bewildered, because each one was hearing them speak in his own language.” (Acts 2:6, ESV)

Nobody turned to their neighbor and said, “What did he just say?”

They heard. Clear. Direct. Personal.

And it wasn’t because Peter had nailed the Galilean version of Aramaic or picked up Persian on the side. This wasn’t polish. It was power. God made the message clear.

That’s the part I come back to: sometimes, we try so hard to say the right thing, to sound smart, to impress or persuade, and we forget that understanding is a gift, not just a skill.

God still works like that.

He takes our awkward efforts and turns them into something that lands. Not because we practiced enough but because He’s generous enough.

So no, I didn’t say everything right in France. I probably sounded ridiculous more than once. But I saw what happens when you show up anyway. When you keep trying, when you trust that grace might fill in the gaps.

And if God could make fishermen speak so the whole world could hear…

He can still work through someone like me. Or you.

‌‌‌‌~PW 🌮🛶

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