Our home has never run on just one language. Depending on the day and who is in the kitchen, we move between English, Spanish, and Portuguese without much ceremony — it is simply how our family talks to itself.
I used to wonder, before we had children, whether raising them bilingual (or trilingual) might somehow complicate their faith — as though clarity required a single language. Then I read the story of Pentecost again, where the Spirit fell on a room of people and each person heard the gospel in their own native tongue (Acts 2:8-11), and I stopped worrying. If God’s good news was never meant to be confined to one language at Pentecost, I doubt it needs to be confined to one in my kitchen.
What I have found instead is that multiple languages have given our children multiple ways to encounter the same truths — a hymn that lands differently in Portuguese than in English, a prayer that means something slightly new in Spanish. Far from diluting their faith, it has widened the rooms it can live in.