Working in admissions, one of the things I love most is getting to engage with families as they come visit our school. When we tour families around our campus, we’re not only sharing about our school’s culture, academics, fine arts and athletic programs, but we’re also getting a sense of why this family is looking to change schools, what they’re looking for, and simply getting to know them during the visit.
Recently a father from China came to visit in search of a Christian school for his children. His family will be moving to Fort Worth soon and he’d heard about our school from a friend. His English was fairly strong, but as we talked I found myself taking care with my word choice to keep things as simple as possible. Because of the language difference, we communicated more with smiles and body language than words. This man was kind, engaging, and his faith was evident. We walked the halls, peered into classrooms and met a few students, and then.
We entered the freshman Bible classroom where our teacher sat visiting with a student.
“Mr. Heffner, can we interrupt you for a minute?”
Mr. Heffner turned to us and his explosive grin filled his face. He rushed over to us, extended both hands to our visitor, and asked where he was from.
Within moments the communication jumped from splintered English to high-velocity Mandarin. Mr. Heffner and his family returned to Fort Worth just a few years ago after nearly thirty years in Taiwan, so these two strangers connected instantly. Our communication entering that classroom felt like strolling through a park, but within seconds we were hanging on for dear life at the Daytona 500. Their words flew back and forth like sparks, smiles bigger and bigger, eyes full of knowing expression. These two men knew the same places, the same people, the same home. The connection was so startling that I met eyes with student who’d been interrupted, and we both erupted into laughter.
What we witnessed in those few glorious moments was a heart connection. A connection forged simply from speaking the same language.
That encounter framed a picture of what the Holy Spirit does for us. He is always, always with us. But at specific, timely moments, he leans in and speaks our heart language. A language that lovingly interrupts, catches our attention, and draws us in. And gives us a taste of home.
Four times during the last supper discourse, Jesus described the Holy Spirit as Comforter. I like to think of this Comforter as speaking our unique heart languages. On any normal day, in highs and in lows, we have the living presence of God with us. He comes alongside us with comfort and encouragement. And he knows how to engage in a way that will make sense to us.
And maybe best of all, he comes alongside the people we love.
He brings comfort and encouragement in a perfectly tuned way that makes sense to them – he speaks their unique heart language. Even with the people we love most deeply, sometimes especially with those, we are helpless to provide satisfying comfort. But there is a perfect Holy Spirit whose entire existence is for that purpose, and He does it.
The past couple of months have kept the Holy Spirit busy in our circle of friends and family. Esther’s grief with our beloved Ruby, difficult break ups, a couple of dear friends going HOME to Glory unexpectedly, and the physical suffering of friends we love. Discouragement hovers, just waiting for a crack in the door to enter with its smothering weight. We can all relate to feeling helpless knowing how to meet and care for loved ones in pain. I can’t possibly know what my people actually need. And in my efforts I often say the wrong thing, do the wrong thing.
But. We serve the God of all comfort! And He has given us his Holy Spirit – One called alongside to give aid or help.
Advocate, Helper, Spirit of Truth.
And He knows the right thing to say, even in our unique heart languages.
Lord we trust your Holy Spirit to be our Comfort. And not only for ourselves, but for our children, our parents, our loved ones. When we feel helpless to make things better, we trust that you can and will. Give us faith to trust that you’ll do it, faith where we get to lean back and smile, maybe even laugh at the audacity of witnessing such a glorious moment. You bring comfort, joy, and a taste of home.