Chinese French - Another Miracle

Some call it the Gift of Tongues.  Heaven knows I needed it.  I had two years of college French behind me and an intense language course in the Missionary Training Center, but as far as I was concerned, Quebecois hardly resembled Parisian French, and may as well have been Chinese for all I understood. 

I had been in Canada nearly two months and still struggled to make out more than three words in a conversation.  Sitting in church meetings gave me headaches as I strained to follow the verbal gush.  Fortunately I was still in my training period and had a more seasoned companion to carry the conversations for us. 

Until the phone call came. 

My companion was leaving.  Transferred north to Quebec City.  And  I was staying-- to train a new sister on her way from the Missionary Training Center.

Gulp.

"How on Earth?" I thought, "I'm brand new!  How can I possibly train a new sister?  I can't even communicate here!"  But of course I didn't say that out loud.  I accepted the assignment and hung up the phone in shock. 

As my companion and I drove to our appointments that day, it dawned on me that not only could I not understand the language, but I had absolutely no sense of direction in our area. 

None. 

She had been the principal driver these two months, and for many months prior, and knew the map like the back of her hand.  I, on the other hand, had sat in the passenger seat, shockingly unaware of where we were day after day.  Shocking only now that I was faced with losing my chauffeur in less than 24 hours!

My insides were stunned.  I had the sensation of being pushed to the edge of a cliff, knowing that I would have to jump, but with no clue how to prepare- let alone save- myself, and my poor new companion.

Out of desperation and humility for all that I lacked,  I prayed that God would make up the difference.  That I would be able to communicate in Quebecois French, and that I would be able to navigate the roads of our city.  I knew that there was no way we could be effective without these skills, and I also knew that there was no way that I, of myself, could develop them in such a short amount of time.  I felt utterly dependant on a power beyond my own to make me equal to the task.

Transfers came the next day, and my new companion arrived.  Detailed directions in hand, I picked Soeur Gilmour up at the mission home in Montreal and we made our way back across the bridge to Laval.  I got us that far!  The next morning, we set out on our appointments for the day.  I pulled out the road map for our assigned area, turned it right side up and stared.  As I did, a complete aerial view of the city came to my mind.  In this image, I could suddenly see where all the major roadways connected in relation to our apartment, knew how to get to everywhere I had been in the past two months, and understood the best ways to travel to each appointment that day. 

But an even more amazing gift was given to me that day.  As we visited with each of our appointments, and as we went from door to door, I could suddenly- clearly- completely- understand every single word of French that was spoken.

I can still remember the smile of amazement and relief that spread through me that day, and the days that followed.  I never did pick up that Quebecois twang in my own accent, but to this day, Canadian French is music to my ears.