You already know enough words. Just say them.

Give, and it will be given to you. Good measure, pressed down, shaken together, running over, will be put into your lap. For with the measure you use it will be measured back to you.
Luke 6:38

It was her smile...
...from day 1 in the small garage/church building in Ciudad Real.

But my Spanish was minimal. Her English was even less.
I didn’t have enough words.

I had tried back home in Alabama. Before we left for El Salvador...

• I listened and repeated all 14 of my Pimsleur Spanish CDs. Twice.
• I sung the 18 cantos de niños (songs for kids) from Rachael in Spanish over and over (much to my family’s chagrin).
• I dug out Morgan’s old Spanish textbooks and reviewed the grammar.

And it still wasn’t enough. Not to my ears. Not from my mouth.
What did I have to give?

But I was underestimating.
Not me.
God.

In between the giving of the gift and the receiving of it,
God does special things.

In the gap, he works miracles.

So whenever I saw my special new friend, I was excited. She was too. We would smile and hug and I’d offer her my few words, “¿Cómo estás?”

What do you hand over anyway, when you think you don’t have enough?
Not enough energy. Not enough resources. Not enough love.

When you don’t have enough—and you probably don’t—
give anyway.

As the week went on, I still wasn’t catching her name. (I was amazed at how difficult it could be to understand even a spoken name.)

Until I wrote down my name. And handed her the crayon.
That communicated.
She wrote down her name too:
Mireya.

I sat by Mireya at the gospel meeting in the new building on Saturday night. Afterwards I tried to get her address. She never fully understood (or else didn’t know her address), but wrote down pieces of it anyway.

And then came Sunday morning, my last day to see Mireya (the day I finally could roll my r’s a little better).

She came right up and handed me a piece of paper: her full address, handwritten just for me.

During the sermon, I wrote on paper of my own. A letter to Mireya. Mainly in English, with a few Spanish words thrown in—mi amiga, te amo, muy bonita, gracias. I gave it to her before she left for lunch.

But when she returned for afternoon VBS, her hands were full again. This time with a box. A bright yellow, decorated box, taped all around the edges.

She extended it to me. My hands went to my chest, the universal gesture of “For me?”

Sí.

I discovered a beautiful ceramic giraffe cup and saucer.
For me.
From my friend I could barely talk to, but with whom I could communicate prolifically, thanks to God filling in the gap in between.

I cried then.
I cry now, thinking again of Mireya and her sweet gift of love that now sits on my dresser.

When we give anyway,
try anyway,
love anyway,
God delivers miracles.

It’s the way He works.

• Don’t wait until your doctrine is airtight before you step out in faith.
• Don’t wait until you have the perfect present before you give a piece of your heart.
• Don’t wait until you have enough words before you speak love into someone’s life.

Do it now.
Do it anyway.
Because when you do, it won’t be enough.
It will be more than enough.

Gracias, Mireya.
Dios te bendiga.

* * *

May I encourage you today to overcome the inertia to do nothing, to say nothing?

Put yourself out there a little more today. You know enough already to share God’s love with someone. Speak what you know.

Maybe in words. Maybe not. Maybe with a smile. Or a hug. Or a giraffe cup and saucer.