Reflecting back this morning on our church history tour a whole month ago already, I found myself smiling at one of the more unexpected memories…

My Scottish accent.

Being with all those amazing young people, I quickly discovered that for many of them, I was the first Scot they had ever met. Which meant, of course, that I was both a leader of their group and an unofficial travelling exhibit!

As we walked between sites, sat under trees, waited for buses, and shared conversations, they would often ask me to repeat words, simply because I think they liked the sound of them. And sometimes because they had absolutely no idea what I had just said!! They were fascinated!

They asked about Scotland – a lot. About our Scottish weather, our words, our food, and the legendary haggis wee beastie!

Inevitably, they asked me to do an American accent.

I am sorry to report that this was not my finest hour.

The best I could offer was the phrase “apple pie” in what I hoped was a convincing Southern drawl, but which probably sounded more like a confused Scotsman ordering dessert in Texas.

We laughed a lot and we all loved it.

For me, there was something joyful about our little exchanges.  A reminder that connection often begins in curiosity. Not big grand speeches. Simply a teenager saying, “Can you say that again?” and a Scot trying very badly to sound American.

But as I think about it now, we all came to that trip with our own accents. Not just the way we speak, but the way we see the world. Our homes, our cultures, our experiences, our questions, our fears, our humour and our hopes.

And yet, beneath all of that, we were the same, sharing one thing in common – we are all Children of God.

Different voices, different backgrounds and different stories… but the same divine parentage.

Accents

I know that our Heavenly Father hears every sincere voice. He understood a young boy in 1820. He understands teenagers from Utah. He understands a Scotsman stumbling through “apple pie.” And He understands the language beneath our accents – the language of the heart.

We shared our conversations together on paths, questions between sites, laughter on buses, sacred thoughts under trees and our friendships formed across accents.

I know that God’s family has many voices and when love is present, we understand each other better than we expect.

So yes, they heard my Scottish accent, and I heard their curiosity, kindness, humour, and faith.

Accents and all, we belonged to each other for a few unforgettable days… And maybe that is a little glimpse of heaven. Different voices. One family. All children of God.

Who needs to know they belong, accent and all?