|One of my older students, S. (age 6)|
"Teacher Rebecca, a lovit!"
"Teacher Rebecca, m-a tras de parul!"
"Teacher Rebecca, avem Engleza azi?"
"Teacher, mergem afara? Cand?"
"Teacher, el vorbeste prosti la mine!"
"Teacher, pot sa ma duc sa fac pisi?"
"Teacher, pot sa ma duc sa spal maini?"
"Teacher, stii ce am visat? Am visat ca tu vorbesti Romana!"
If nothing else, I bet you noticed the word "teacher" over, and over, and over... Teacher, teacher, teacher...
I love you, he hit me, he pulled my hair... Do we have English today? Are we going outside? When? He said something mean... Can I go pee? Can I go wash my hands? Guess what I dreamed? I dreamed you speak Romanian!
Guess what? I dreamed the same thing! And then I woke up and came back to school, and guess what? I'm speaking Romanian right now! HA!
That's a true story, by the way. I went home and took a nap during my break and had the same dream as a five-year-old. I'm not sure how I should feel about that.
Every day I'm reminded of one thing: kids are kids. People keep asking me, "So how are the kids in Romania? Are they worse than American kids?" Honestly, they get in trouble for the same things, whine about the same things, and they all tattle. Kids are kids.
More than that, people are people. Maybe we're different colors, or have different habits, or we get to school a different way. But we're all human, and we all started out the same way. For every adult you see, there used to be a child, and somewhere inside of that adult is a childhood that will never be forgotten. Maybe I only see these kids for an hour or less every day, but I want it to be a good hour. So no matter how many times they say my name (or forget my name), I never want to give up on them. Not even the challenging ones. Jesus was a challenging one, too, remember? His parents actually lost him one time.
With this in mind, I should mention that our Friday night girls' Bible study has officially started. We had eight girls on the first night and ten last week, and we're going through a study called "Lord, Heal My Hurts," or in Romanian, "Doamne, vindeca-mi ranile." I've actually done this study before, but it was in English and I did it alone. This time it's in Romanian (led by someone who actually speaks Romanian, of course) with girls from a variety of backgrounds and ages, some with not-so-great childhoods and plenty of hurts that need healing. But again, don't we all have hurts of some kind? Whether it's that our parents abandoned us or something much less obvious, the root of the issue and the ultimate solution are the same for all of us. We all need healing for the one problem that causes the rest -- sin. So pray with me that our Friday nights will be a time of fellowship, learning, and most of all healing as we learn about Jehovah-Rapha, The Lord our Healer!