May I Have Your Attention, Please?

About ten years ago shortly after Stephen and I were married, I agreed to tutor his seven year old nephew, Dakota. Dakota was a bright kid who just had a little trouble reading and keeping up in school. After only one tutoring session I realized why he often fell behind; he had never gotten a good grasp of the alphabet or that each letter, or group of letters, corresponded to a particular sound. It soon became apparent that we would have to start from the very beginning, with letter recognition, before we could make any real progress toward grade-level reading.

Now, I knew if I just told Dakota that he would have to learn the alphabet from the beginning he would’ve shut down and refused to work with me. He would assume that I didn’t know what I was doing or that I was trying to baby him and he’d lose respect for me almost immediately. I realized I had to get his attention . . . in a big way. I had to make the tutoring sessions so unlike any class he had ever been to or any other lesson he had ever learned that he would have no excuse not to participate. So . . . I resorted to bribery.

As newlyweds Stephen and I always kept a large jar on our kitchen counter for spare change just in case our checking account ever ran low, which it often did. Every day when Stephen got home from work, he would drop his spare change in the jar and by the time I started tutoring Dakota, it was nearly half full.

One day when Dakota came over for his tutoring session, I asked him if he wanted to earn a little money. His dark brown eyes-- root beer eyes, I always called them because they reminded me of root beer barrel candies--grew into saucers and sparkled like diamonds. Of course he wanted to earn some money! He had toys to buy and video game machines to feed. I brought out the big jar and his eyes danced as a big smile curled his lips.

I promised Dakota that for every letter he could recognize, I would give him a coin from the jar. Sometimes I would give him a quarter and sometimes I would just give him a penny or two, but each time he recognized a letter, I would give him something. Before long it became such a game to him, he could spout off letters, giggling all the while, before I could get my hand out of the jar.

I had gotten his attention by speaking to him in a language he could understand. If I would have just said, “Dakota, I’m your aunt and you’re going to learn your alphabet,” I would have lost him. I had to get his attention in a big way and I only had one opportunity to do it.

I thought of Dakota as I read Acts 2:1-13. The Holy Spirit was making His debut and He was doing it in a big way. “And suddenly there came from heaven a sound like the mighty rushing wind and it filled the entire house where they were sitting. And divided tongues as of fire appeared to them and rested on each one of them. And they were all filled with the Holy Spirit and began to speak in other tongues as the Spirit gave them utterance. Now there were dwelling in Jerusalem Jews, devout men from every nation under heaven. And at this sound the multitude came together and they were bewildered, because each one was hearing them speak in his own language. They were amazed and astonished . . .” Acts 2:2-7 (ESV)

I didn’t understand the significance of each audience member understanding, in his own language, what was said until I did a little research. Unsurprisingly, languages of the world in that time were as complex then as they are today. It would have taken even the most intelligent men and women years to master a particular language. Because all twelve apostles were from Galilee, they didn’t have access to distant languages. It wasn’t as simple as dropping by Barnes & Noble for a quick study guide or enrolling in a summer foreign language class at the nearby community college that would provide them with enough of an understanding to “wing it”.

Then I began to think of why God must have felt it was important for this to be the Holy Spirit’s first miracle. It wasn’t to take the complexities out of communication--it was to convince them that He was among them. He got their attention and He did it by speaking to them in languages they could understand. He got his point across and did it in such a profound way they wouldn’t likely forget the experience or the incredible feelings that accompanied it.

With Dakota I had to speak to him in his own language to get him to listen to me. I had to find a way to get through to him even if I had to resort to unconventional methods. Isn’t it interesting how God will often deal with us in the same manner? He gets down on our level and speaks to us in ways we can understand Him. He may not speak to me in the same manner He speaks to others because He, in His infinite wisdom, knows that I’m stubborn and am unlikely to respond to convention. Just like a mother or father knows what methods of love and discipline work for their children, our Heavenly Father knows what methods work for us. He doesn’t expect us to conform to another’s way of thinking, instead, He acknowledges that we’re all different, just as He intended.

We serve a mighty God--a God who is not too out-of-reach to love us, comfort us, or communicate with us. And He’s still communicating today just as He was back then. The key to hearing Him is to accept that He’s willing to come down to our level to reach us. I find it incredible that the God who created every particle of existence, the God who hung the stars in the sky and breathed breath into all living things finds me significant enough with which to communicate and He’s willing to do it wherever I am, whenever I want and in ways that I can understand and relate. How humbling is that?