Oh, the stories they could tell …

There were many moments during our trip to Kalimantan where I grieved my inability to communicate with the beautiful locals in their heart language.  I longed to more fully understand their stories.

One mother moved to a new village with her husband and two young children to find work.  They have no family in the village they now call home ~ no family in a village that counts it’s inhabitants by numbering the families.  30 patriarchs.  She is 37 years old and she is starting again.  I asked if her family was living in a near-by village along the river.  “I am the only one”, she replied “they have all passed away”.

Another mother bore her first child at 16 years old, not unusual in her village.  The baby, a beautiful little girl, was born with significant disabilities, but there is no access to medical care where they live.  She does not speak, has difficulty eating, and is often sick.  The father rocks her in his arms.  Their second child was born just two years later.

In both villages we visited the children are eager to learn, their faces are filled with hope, their laughter echoes.

So many faces, each representing a life filled with hopes and dreams, each with a story to tell …

My heart was full …

His name is Sudihnur and he is 9 years old.
We sat on the dusty, wooden, schoolhouse floor, oblivious to the mothers and babies around us.
We started at “1” and after each number he looked up at me with the most wonderful smile you have ever seen.
Slowly. Painstakingly. 1 to 100.
His mother told me how to spell his name, and we continued our lesson. Sun, moon, stars, river, mother, child …
We covered the floor counting, writing, and drawing around mothers, toddlers, chairs and desks.
My heart was full.

Selamat Paskah ~ Happy Easter

We travelled to the village along narrow, winding, pitted roads, passing farmers working in the fields. The rolling hills and palm trees were set out in front of us, and the noises of the city faded the further we travelled.  We arrived at the small school-house full of smiling children.  Mothers sat and visited out front, waiting patiently while their children learned the abc’s and 123’s.  They waited like this every day, their child’s education is worth the wait.

We made crafts, sang songs, told stories, searched for eggs {real ones, the hard boiled kind}, and shared treats. We laughed and made silly faces, and then sadly, we said good-bye.  They set off for home, shielded from the tropical mid-day sun by their mothers umbrellas.  We travelled home along the narrow, winding, pitted roads, passing farmers still working in the fields.  The rolling hills and palm trees faded in the distance as we approached the hustle and bustle of the city.

“He called a little child to him, and placed the child among them. And he said “Truly I tell you, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. Therefore, whoever takes the lowly position of this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven. And whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me.”

Matthew 18:2-5