I’d sit there. Two little girls scrabbling in the sand. Building castles. Running to get water. Splashing each other. Communicating in two languages.
And I’d listen. Surrounded by a veritable Tower of Babel.
Catalan, Spanish, Dutch, German, Russian, French. Plus languages I couldn’t identify.
This was Ampuria Brava. Northern Spain. North of Barcelona. South of the French border. A small town that bursts its seams during August.
And I wondered what it would be like to understand everybody.
This memory found its way out of the archives of my mind as I walked the dogs on my last day in the Chesapeake before heading home.
I’m a Christian. And lately I’ve been delving in the Mysteries of the Christian Faith. There’s so much to ponder. To reflect. To study.
Imagine being there when the Holy Spirit descended. Imagine being in a huge crowd where everybody spoke different languages. Imagine the Holy Spirit being poured out on the disciples. Imagine them communicating in different languages so everybody understood.
Acts 2:1-12 - NKJV
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