The Tower Curse

I enlisted, and now I’m in the thick of a war that started over 4,000 years ago. I’m fighting for words, fighting for connection.

Four thousand years ago our words were mixed up and we were scattered to the four corners— 

Because we messed up big. Again. As if it wasn’t enough to eat forbidden fruit and get cursed with pain and death, and then be just plain wild and get cursed with a global flood; we had to go and build a kingdom and a huge tower and bang another curse because again, we didn’t seek His kingdom first.

Every day the earth’s curses catch me. It’s like walking through one unseen spiderweb after another. You try to spit it out, try to get it out of your eyes, but it clings. And it happens over and over because we are living in a dark forest. A cursed dark forest. But this particular curse—the Tower Curse—has a unique grip on me that it never did before. Its breath is hot and close.

 The sweat is pouring down my back.

“‘Come let us go down and there confuse their language, so that they may not understand one another’s speech.’ And the Lord dispersed them over the face of the earth” (Genesis 11:7-8ish).

This is why I can barely interact with the Dominican culture I now call home. This is why my husband and I can barely talk to each other. This is why staying physically together may be a struggle through the years.

The world is many kingdoms, not one kingdom. The world is many languages, not one language. The world is cursed.

 And yet in the middle of a curse we can still find love.

The blood of Jesus lubricated the rusted locks and chains and gave us prisoners indefatigable hope—because we know (some of us without a shadow of a doubt, others of us with a shadow of a doubt) that He will return with the keys and set us free once and for all.

Soon, one kingdom, a united kingdom that speaks His language.

Until then, I have been gifted with a mind that can, with hard work, learn new things. I can learn new words. Gradually, as the months go by, Español will less and less be Babel, more and more my own language. And maybe, if God permits it, the laws of our respective countries will not separate Victor and I. Maybe the Tower Curse won’t have the last laugh. Maybe? No. No maybe. I’ll have the last laugh and it will bubble over forever.



Note: I’m immersing my brain in Spanish so this post is an indulgence.