I am just about ready to go to bed tonight. There is a steady rain falling, making a melody on our metal roof which crescendos with a crash of thunder and a flash lighting up the window. According to the time on my computer, it is close to 3 pm for many friends and family in the States. I feel compelled to tell you of something I saw this afternoon on the road, driving back from Manzini to Nsoko today with Eric. Mid-afternoon here in Swaziland you will find many, many school children walking alongside the roads. They seem to go in clusters of different colored uniforms. Bright red, light blue, green gingham, maroon gingham, dark green…all based on the school they attend. Some walking, some skipping, many running; probably to get to their homestead in time to gather firewood, fetch water, help prepare dinner, take care of younger siblings, herd in the goats, do homework and wash their uniform for tomorrow before the sun goes down. As we slow down to go over some speed bumps, I notice a little girl tearing some pages out of a notebook and dropping them on the dirty road. I get kind of annoyed by this, thinking how careless and irresponsible this is to be throwing away her school work. In a few seconds I become a bit angry; after all, she is one of the lucky ones here in Swaziland. She is able to go to school. This is a real privilege here. Public education is not free. We turn kids away every term that come to us asking for help paying their school fees.
In an ugly, selfish, human moment I say: “How can she be doing that, just throwing her school work in the dirt? Doesn’t she know how blessed she is?”
Eric’s words cut me to the quick. They awaken something in me, a spark I had naively thought would never go out in my heart but I have wept over the fact that, actually, selfishness and my sinful nature are constantly at work to douse it. These words blow renewal over the embers:
“She doesn’t have anyone to show them to, nobody is going to hang those papers on the refrigerator and say I am proud of you!”
The simplicity of these words struck me. The sadness of the truth of these words make me want to turn the car around, pick up the scattered pages, take that little girl’s face in my hands and tell her:
“This is wonderful! You did amazing work today! I am so very proud of you!”
Of course, I don’t do this.
Perhaps, I should have.
So, I ask any of you reading this as you wait for your kids to come home from school today with a backpack full of papers and worksheets…hang them on the refrigerator, take their little face in your hands and tell them how much you love them and how proud of them you are!
