It is a hot and humid day. My task this morning has been the dismantling of a raised platform, built of scaffolding with pipe and wood to make the deck that had been used as a launching point for a makeshift zip-line. Now and then, sweat drips from my face so freely I mistake it for rain, and though the short sleeves have been a benefit, the thicker material of my t-shirt has gained ten pounds in wet weight by now. I pause and survey the station from my perch twenty feet up a tree.

A trio of Burkinabe walk beneath me and shout phrases that seem to be encouragement. I only recognize a repeated “Good work!” in French. The rest are lost to me as my linguistic shortcomings are compounded by fatigue. Despite the friendly nature of the people here, I can’t help but wonder what they actually think about the way I have spent my effort this morning. Do they find my work a waste of time? Am I performing at an appropriate pace? Am I perceived as foolish in my methods? In hindsight, these doubts seem ludicrous, but behind the isolating wall of my foreign tongue in an unfamiliar culture nothing is available to counteract the extremes of my mind.

A welcomed breeze breaks my reverie. The non-acclimated person must be certain to make full use of whatever air flow graces their day, and I stand to better situate myself. As the wind empties its breath, I gather my own and return to work. Putting the final touches on a makeshift block and tackle system, I descend the now-rickety scaffolding and prepare for the next step. Making certain the lowering rope is tight and within my control, I grab hold of the tower and heave it off its footing.

It topples freely for a brief second before the rope system draws fully taut, and then I am able to lower it gently to the ground with only a tiny crashing at the end. Half an hour later I am surrounded by separated pieces and ready to stow the pieces away. I begin with a bundle of pipe. Fifty feet of six-inch PVC is not light, and I fancied myself rather herculean (though I am certain I looked more like a dying donkey) as I carried it to the workshop.

Again I thought about the other people on the station and whether I had earned respect in their eyes. As a missionary, one is not to be concerned with pleasing his fellow man but rather God alone. However, as a human who has spent time on various construction sites, I knew work ethic and productivity were, at some level, tied to acceptance. Yet, without a way to communicate beyond greetings and pleasantries, it seemed I would never know my stance in the community.

As I rounded the corner of the workshop, the scene I saw brought me to a complete halt, and were I someone more in touch with his sensitive side, I might have shed a tear. As it was, I laughed and shouted with exuberance. The remainder of my working, carrying all the pieces and components, was being done for me by all the people who had been passing by throughout the day. People were bringing the scaffolding, the plywood and even the tools to help me finish my work. I thanked them as they walked by, and again they offered all the incomprehensible phrases of encouragement that had been said before. I was, and am now, incredibly thankful for their help.

Upon reflection, it is not merely that I received aid with a challenging problem that made me so grateful. Since my arrival in country, people have been friendly to me, but without a shared language it has been difficult for me to feel like a fully accepted member of the group. One cannot easily share a joke, tell a story or give inspiration beyond the vague “You can do it!” in order to fully invite an outsider into the community. But, there is a universal language in kindness and self-sacrifice that says “I acknowledge you. You are one of us and worthy of our efforts.”

My service as a missionary may bring me in contact with people who are or feel devalued, and it is my duty through kindness and love to show them that they are valued by God and by His servants. Yet, how often, at home, do we encounter people in our lives who are outside our circle of friends or acquaintances? They need not be completely foreign, but as long as they perceive a divide, they will always feel uncertain about their value and societal worth. What I have learned, and what I hope to share, is the impact of little kindnesses on a person who does not know their value. These acts span language barriers and cultural divides to communicate an important truth for all people in a universal language: “You are a valued person and worthy of my sacrifice.” May we all be challenged to speak to whomever we meet in this way.