I remember eating breakfast on our first day of ministry in K.L. I was enjoying our scrambled eggs, toast and fruit, planning to go to prostitution ministry shortly, when our contact walked in. “There’s been a change of plans – we need the three of you to go to school to teach.” I grumbled at the thought of being volunteered to do something I wasn’t prepared for or desiring to do – it was month 11 after all, and I was having a moment of forgetting that I don’t have rights. It was hard to say yes and “just go with it”. We were promised “It’ll just be for one day“.
One week later…I discovered this may be my favorite ministry all month.
We drove across the city – down some side streets and pulled up alongside a yellow building. Up the stairs we walked to the beat of screaming children awaiting our arrival. We walked into the main room and saw kiddos running to and fro – papers flying – and teachers scurrying to gather them together. A few minutes later we were being introduced and assigned to classrooms. Each of us was given 1 classroom…and were told we’d be teaching “all day”. Hooray!
My classroom was the 4-6 year-old’s. Kindergarten. Joy. Here I stood in a room full of 20+ circus children who had no desire to sit still – and I was supposed to teach them. I prayed for the Lord to change my attitude…and He slowly began to melt my heart for these kiddos. We practiced shapes, colors, math, spelling, and various words. The everyday teacher of this class popped in and out translating on occasion (Yes, it’s quite an adventure teaching a room full of kindergarteners who need a translator with an ‘occasional’ translator.)
it was around midday that I realized this wasn’t about me…but I still had a little more to learn. I didn’t know a thing about their stories. Our car ride home with our dear friend Keith changed that for me. He began sharing with us how the Burmese refugee children come to be in Malaysia – how they are displaced from family, sometimes parents, and pretty much everything they know. Because they are merely ‘refugees’ they are not welcomed to participate in/attend public schools in Malaysia – and therefore spend time sitting at home – while they wait 3 years for a re-location assignment from the UN. Interesting. I didn’t realize that this school we were at was created by volunteer Burmese refugees…all desiring to educate their children and prepare them for their move to America or another country. I didn’t know these people weren’t paid to do their job – or that most of these kids are lucky to eat once a day, maybe twice.
I wondered to myself…how could I be that selfish??
It gets better. We are told at supper that night that the school liked us so much – we would be returning for the remainder of the week – and teaching the same classes. Hooray! I entered my classroom on day #2 – was handed a white board marker, an eraser, and a smile from the teacher who closed the door as he left. There I stood – alone with a room full of rascals I wasn’t sure how to teach. I realized all I could do was pray. So I did – and then I started to sing. I SANG LOUD. I SANG PRAISE TO GOD WHO LOVES ALL THESE CHILDREN. I watched as one by one they stopped shouting, hitting, screaming, kicking, punching, jumping, and turned their gaze to me. I had their attention – something was stirring in their hearts.
I decided that art + music should be added to their curriculum – and the results were astounding.
Every child in the class participated – whereas during spelling and match, some were hesitant to even pick up a pencil. Somehow art time allowed each student to practice their creativity. Somehow learning songs, clapping and stomping rhythms, and mimicking my vocal warm-ups from college brought these children alive. I was truly astounded!!
Over the course of my week with this bunch the Lord showed me glimpses of their stories and how to pray for them, their families, and the country of Myanmar. Somehow their shrilly greeting at the top of their lungs “Good morning TEACHER” every morning became a sweet testimony of God using us in our weakness, stubbornness, and all for His glory – because none of this is about us. I thank God for dragging me out of my comfort, and self-appointed rights to a place that stripped me of my perceptions of the country of Malaysia – and what it means to be a refugee.
I close with two stories from “My Beautiful Myanmar” a school’s small publication of testimonies from students:
Albert, 15 writes:
My father died after being tortured by the soldiers. One of my brothers is deaf. One day the soldiers came to our house and interrogated him. He did not answer them since he couldn’t hear so they bit my brother. They asked me to follow them but I didn’t want to follow so I ran away to Malaysia. If we had continued to stay in Myanmar we would’ve had more trouble and could’ve lost our lives. Sometimes I feel hopeless because I can’t think of my future.
Michael, 10 writes:
In Myanmar we had a lot of trouble. My father was arrested and when he was released the army tried to arrest him again. He was worried for his life so he ran away to Malaysia. The military threatened and tortured us so we decided to follow my father. We walked a lot and also traveled by car. I could hardly breathe in the car because we were all squeezed together, bodies overlapping each other. The driver was drunk. He didn’t even look at us or care. He never gave us any water or food. We were almost dying. In Malaysia we still face many problems. No one wants to employ my parents. Communication is difficult. Everyday they look for jobs and when they can’t find any they are depressed. We hope to have a better life. I want to become a doctor and help our people.
[For more information on “My Beautiful Myanmar” e-mail: [email protected]]
PLEASE PRAY FOR THE BURMESE REFUGEE FAMILIES IN MALAYSIA + those still in MYANMAR.
