"Billy" from Pakistan
 |
Our girls attend a unique school called International
Christina School of Vienna. Once started as a missionary school for those
living on the edge of the "Iron Curtain" over 26 years ago, it now serves the
international community as a viable schooling option for over 240 students from
over 32 countries.
One day a week I volunteer in Libby's 5th grade class. I get
to read with two students who's native language is not English. These
boys come from Pakistan and South Korea. At home they speak in their mother tongue, at school they speak English, and somewhere in the middle - between living in a German-speaking country - they are learning German.
I work with these boys to serve the teacher, but my main objective is quite simple: I want them to know how much God loves them. In fact, as they sound out letters and form words ... I am praying. Not out loud, of course, but in my heart. As they utter syllables and consonants pronounced with heavy accents, my prayers on their behalf are being uttered. I've grown to love those boys.
I work with these boys to serve the teacher, but my main objective is quite simple: I want them to know how much God loves them. In fact, as they sound out letters and form words ... I am praying. Not out loud, of course, but in my heart. As they utter syllables and consonants pronounced with heavy accents, my prayers on their behalf are being uttered. I've grown to love those boys.
Most of the time I work with Jimmy. (More on my little
friend in the next blog). Sometimes I work with ... let's call him ...
Billy from Pakistan. I like Billy. He is fresh-faced and
bright-eyed! He's so full of personality! In fact, I joke with him by predicitng that he will be a great actor when he grows up! Every time I see him I
ask him if I can have his autograph. It's kind of our "thing".
One day while going over English words he was not familiar with,
we came to the word "pie". He looked puzzled. I
explain that "pie" is an American word for a type of pastry not
found in most countries. We than began to embark on a conversation about
food ... about the food his Mamma cooks ... what his favorite is ... and
isn't it!
Our conversation then led to other things about his country.
I clarify that he is from Pakistan. He answers in the affirmative
and then proceeds to tell me about his city. There was a bomb that blew
up a main bridge. Instead of fixing the bridge that is now in ruins they just use the rubble to create a makeshift path on which to climb to
the other side.
I ask Billy if it's dangerous in his city. He tells me the
police carry machine guns ... big ones. But, he and his family aren't
afraid of the "bad guys" because his Uncle is a policeman.
Whenever they are with their Uncle, and his big machine gun, no one
bothers them.
Hmmm. It's a lot to take in so I remain silent in front of
my young friend. Then he looks at me with those bright-eyes and tells me
with complete earnestness in his heart, "Miss, I am not dangerous!" Of
course this sweet Billy is not dangerous! He's 11 years old! I am
left with an odd sense that this cultural encounter between me and "Billy" has let me inside his
world. Because the color of his skin and the orgin of his roots, do most
people think he's dangerous?
Then we go back to short vowel sounds and we play memory together.
Most days reality limits itself to washing dishes, combing hair, a meeting here a coffee there. That day ... reality wasn't pretty.
praying with my eyes wide open,
christina
0 comments