At least one. To be undone.

The little girl sat quietly outside Ba Lorrin's classroom. She said nothing, just looked at me if I looked at her and maybe smiled. I cannot stop wondering what her story is. I cannot stop asking questions about why she is not in a classroom and why she is not wearing a uniform. 

One day she was given a piece of paper and a pen. She sat and drew by herself for several hours. She watched people walk by. She would sometimes get a glance at me helping the grade 6 students who are struggling with long division. Boy, are they struggling but there was something so innocent. She continued to sit and work. One day, she had a bad outbreak of a rash on her arms. I noticed and mentioned it to the nurse who was unable to check until the next day. I sat with another little girl who was struggling during remedials one afternoon and helped her with numbers and adding, as well as the alphabet. Realizing the little girl I noticed before knew no English whatsoever, she came to sit. (She really wanted to write with the marker, as did every other child that walked by-- truth be told.) I wrote out the alphabet for her to copy the letters. Many other kids were still present and were gathered around. 

(Let me stop for a second and add that Zambian kids raise their voices rather quickly. I cannot truthfully figure out why, except to say they want to be heard more than anyone else. So they tend to "yell" at one another often, especially if someone messes up or does something incorrectly. They are very competitive and very hard on one another.)

This group of kids started yelling at little M that she was not doing something right and she was writing the letter the wrong way. I finally raised my voice as she was looking more and more insecure. I invited the kids who could be kind to stay and those who wanted to remain unkind- please go. Most left because they were confused by my loud voice also. She stayed and continued writing. The few kids who were there-- calmly and patiently spoke to her in Bemba and told her what to do and what to write. I had to look up to avoid the tears that were to come. A few letters were quite difficult, so I put her hand in mind and traced the letter and then allowed Little M to work independently. 

There are some things that just someone tell undo me. That was one. Just bottled me up like a big tear drop and let me go. Oh- my heart. To watch a sweet little beautiful girl belong for the first time since her arrival. 

 A teacher noticed her rash and asked her older cousin to walk her home to her aunt (considered a mother according to family traditions in Zambia) as she has recently begun staying with them. She didn't return for a few days. And I worried that she would be forgotten but she returned with more joy and passion than before. She wasn't afraid to let her eyes met mine and she wasn't afraid to grin and laugh and try new things. 

I sat with her this morning and practice numbers and addition. Be still, my heart. May I stop for those who need the extra mile and who just need ordinary people to give them a moment and a hand to trace the letters. 

How covered we are by the grace hand of Jesus who does the same for us. I am in awe. So undone. Willingly. 

-Melis