What Words Can't Say

My pastor often poses the question, “If you couldn’t speak or use words to express yourself, would people know that you’re a Christian?” While this question provokes much thought, most people would not expect to find themselves in a position where they are forced to test it out. But since when do expectations equal reality?

Doubts filled my mind as we discussed our plans for the first day of Vacation Bible School. I looked around at the team for the day: two adults, two teenagers, an eleven year old, and not a single Spanish speaker. I wondered how on earth we expected to reach the kids with the gospel. It seemed like an impossible task. Determined that the day be successful, I immediately busied myself with studying the day’s lesson and songs. SOMEONE had to be able to speak Spanish.

By the time two o’clock rolled around, I was ready to go. I taught “This Little Light of Mine” and “Jesus Loves Me” in Spanish. I told the story of the wayward woman, who cried over Jesus’ feet and dried them with her tears. I asked the kids questions to make sure they understood. Overall, I was pleased with the way things went.

Then we broke into stations. Although Jon and I would be walking around helping with the Spanish, I was expecting chaos to ensue. But looking around, I realized that the team did not need ME to bring the gospel to the children. Although they could neither tell the children about the love of Christ nor share what He had done in their lives, their actions spoke more clearly than a thousand words. These women from my church wanted nothing more than to teach and hug and listen to the children. It didn’t matter that the kids were strangers, that they were dirty, that they were poor. And certainly the love they showed was a much more powerful testimony than anything that I could have said.

The next day, I was in charge of giving out shoes that the team had brought for the children. I motioned for Dania, who was next in line, to come closer. As I pulled off her shoe, I noticed how her toes curled under, stiff and cramped from being stuffed into shoes two sizes too small. Examining the tiny shoe, I saw that the heels were worn to almost nothing, and the fabric in the front was so thin that her toes would soon peek through. I searched the suitcase and found a pair of flowery tennies. “¿Le gustan estes? (Do you like these?)” I asked her. She nodded vigorously, so I loosened the laces and knelt to slip one on. Her feet were bare and dirty, and for a moment, my American pride begged me not to touch them. However, the cry of compassion from my ever-transforming heart was stronger. I reached for her grubby foot and slid it into the shoe. It fit perfectly and looked almost as pretty as the smile lighting up her face.

I marveled at another silent, yet profound, display of Christ’s love. The simple gift of a shoe would bless Dania for at least several months. She would no longer have to rub sore feet at the end of the day or stop halfway to school to dump out rocks that slipped in through the holes. She could now walk in comfort, all because someone living thousands of miles away had walked in obedience to Christ.

Throughout the week, I saw over and over again that God doesn’t need our mouths to proclaim his gospel. His love can be shared just as easily, and probably at times better, through our hands, our feet, and our hearts. After all, who of us can really express the joy of salvation? It’s just one of those things that words can’t say.

“Dear children, let us not love with words or speech but with actions and in truth.” 1 John 3:18