If you want a lesson in humility, move to another country where you don’t speak the language.

During my many years of living overseas, one of the hardest and most humbling experiences was learning a new language. I moved overseas, believing myself to be a well-educated and competent woman. Suddenly, I felt like a helpless infant.

Worst of all, people spoke to me like I was an infant. Russian kindergarteners delighted in correcting my grammar mistakes, and adding to my humiliation, my own children found great glee in pointing out my errors.

I remember so well the day I reached the breaking point and wanted to go home.

It all began with a chicken.

I bravely stepped out into the wintry cold of Russia, with the sole intent to buy a chicken for dinner. The last chicken I bought at the market resembled a large parakeet and cooked up so tough it chipped teeth.

I was determined to find a chicken worthy of being fed to my family.

Stepping into the store, I spied a gorgeous chicken ensconced in the meat cooler. It was an American export. Something from home. That chicken was MINE!

I stepped confidently up to the counter to purchase my American chicken.

Suddenly, I experienced a massive brain freeze. What was the Russian word for chicken? My mind went into overdrive, yet it couldn’t dredge up the correct word.

I panicked as the saleslady approached. For a moment, I considered clucking and flapping my arms like a chicken, in hopes she would understand and not laugh. But with my luck, she’d probably give me eggs instead of that lovely, plump chicken.

My pride introverted personality couldn’t do it. It was too humiliating.

So, I turned and trudged out the door, tears welling up in my eyes. Riding home on the bus, I couldn’t believe I was crying over a chicken. Or more precisely, the lack of a chicken.

Years later, I continued to experience humiliation over my language proficiency. It didn’t help that my husband had achieved rock-star status in his language ability. Ten years after being in Russia, we went to visit a sweet babushka (grandma) in a nearby village. This dear woman complimented my husband’s language ability. He explained that we had spent a year in Moscow studying Russian. Miss Encouragement then turned to me and asked, “Why didn’t you study?” That statement muted me for the rest of the evening. I’m not sure if I ever spoke to her again.

I learned many lessons in my pursuit of a new language.

First, I realized the importance of listening. In the past, I was guilty of speaking more than listening. But with my lack of Russian language skills, I couldn’t do much except listen. People shared serious concerns and problems with me, and I barely understood a word they said. I realized people rarely need me to fix their problems; they just need a sympathetic ear and a shoulder to cry on. An occasional nod and a sympathetic “hmmm,” which I can provide in any language without a trace of an accent, was what they needed.

Language learning gave me a new appreciation for the time Jesus spent on earth. Jesus left the splendors of heaven, to be born in a humble stable. He became an infant who had to learn to walk and talk. Compared to Jesus’ sacrifice, my struggles and humiliation while learning a new language were minimal. It reminded me that God could use me, even when I felt like a helpless infant. It’s all about Him, not about me.

I also gained a new appreciation for the role of the Holy Spirit as I tried to share my faith in a second language. Often, I felt like a complete failure after a mangled attempt to share my testimony with a Russian friend. Yet, when I saw the light of understanding appear in my friend’s eyes, I realized once again, the Holy Spirit had acted as my interpreter. As I responded in obedience to God’s prompting to speak His truth, the Holy Spirit filled in and smoothed out all my language gaps and errors.

So, I learned to speak Russian with an American accent. Next, I studied Greek, and my teacher kept reprimanding me for speaking Greek with a Russian accent. Fortunately, when I go shopping “moo” and “oink” translate in spite of my accent.

As does flapping your arms and clucking like a chicken.