Heart- Mender

The moment I stepped into the Standard Two classroom, I sensed that something was different. Where was the noise, the pre-class chaos? As I quickly scanned the room, I saw that several children were crying, their little heads bent over on their desks. With closer observation, I realized with apprehension that half of my class of twenty students had silent tears cascading down their chocolate cheeks.

“What happened?” I asked nobody in particular. I half-expected to hear that the children had been punished, but… half my class? No, it couldn’t be. I tapped the shoulder of a pupil I knew spoke English more clearly than his classmates. “What’s the matter?” He turned away in silence, burying his sorrow in the sleeve of his school uniform sweater.

The nearest un-tearstained face turned towards me. Usually a trouble-maker, this young scholar was very much subdued as he tried to explain to me in his fragmented English “Selina… going home… leaving…” Now I understood. Selina, an eighteen-year-old student missionary, has been teaching at the school for six months now. She returns to Europe next week. Today was her last day at the Primary School.

“You are sad because Selina is leaving?”

“Yes,” came the downcast reply.

I spent the next hour mending broken hearts. Little arms clung to me. Little heads burrowed into my shoulder. Little hearts foraged for hope. Silent captives of Tanzanian culture were permitted to show emotion.

Once the tears had subsided, I asked the class if they would like to draw pictures for Selina that she could take back home with her. I saw a spark light up the classroom at the suggestion. For the next few minutes, all the children were busily drawing, writing their names with care so that Selina would not forget them. We went on to play with play-dough, and the opportunity to create helped return smiles to the dejected faces, purpose to the shattered spirits.

My heart was overwhelmed with appreciation for God’s leading. I very well might not have come to this place at this time. I might not have accepted responsibility for teaching this class. I know that, of myself, I would not have had the boldness to transcend cultural protocol in order to hug my hurting students. How wonderful a God we serve! He knew these children at this primary school were going to need to sense His compassion today. He used me as a vessel, to overflow His love to them. Praise His name, for His ways are past finding out!

But how hard will it be on these precious children when I leave after being here for six months?

(Written on Friday afternoon, March 7, 2014)