lost in translation

I met my South African husband eleven years ago. I was working at a missions organization in Texas; Niel was going to host our first team to South Africa. Even though it wasn't my department, I was asked to be involved in the planning of the trip. When Niel came into town to go over final logistics---his first time to America---he spent quite a bit of time hanging out in my office.

I'm a snacker---always have been and always will be---and I had a drawer full of snacks in my desk. One of my favorites to stock up on was animal crackers. Mainly because they were cheap. And came in big bags.

On one of Niel's many visits to my office, I offered him a handful. It was his first time to ever see or eat an animal cracker. I don't know if he was more intrigued by the animal-shaped more-cookie-than-cracker snack sensation or the fact that I had a king-sized bag of them in my desk drawer.

A while later Niel came back into my office. He sauntered over to my desk, with his stunning blue eyes, wavy blond hair pulled back in a pony tail, and heart-stopping accent.

"Can I have some more pet biscuits?"

I burst out laughing. "It sounds like you're asking for a dog treat. They're called animal crackers," I told him as I gave him another handful.

Even now, after almost eight years of marriage, things often get lost in translation between us---sometimes comical, sometimes frustrating. But I wouldn't trade my pet-biscuit-eating man for anyone in the world.