Word walls, bulletin boards, anchor charts, freshly Lysol-wiped desks and chairs, carpet space, full libraries and kidney bean tables.
As I learned to be a teacher, all of these things were essentials. If one piece of the puzzle wasn’t in place, learning was no longer possible and the uproar of educators could be heard for miles.
Standing in a shack made from sheet metal, less than half the size of any classroom I had ever set foot in, I realized that the idea of school had been put in a shoe-sized box for me.
What kind of education do children really need? Is all we feel entitled to actually necessary?
Instead of desks, chairs and tables there were small rocks covered with a tarp for 25 students to sit on.
In place of bulletin boards, word walls and anchor charts, the coloring page ABCs were scotch-taped to the front wall.
I lieu of carpet space and full libraries, there was a 6X6inch, crooked white-board hanging on by a thread at the side of the room.
This is how they do school in the slums of Nepal.
The expectant faces of potential astronauts and brain surgeons were replaced with small brown-eyes that have seen more than any human should see in a lifetime.
This tiny, makeshift classroom is their only safe place. The only place some of them will ever hear about the love of the Father.
My heart was overwhelmed with the need to pray over that room.
It may not have looked like it but each student learned something there. They may not have the means to learn to read or write. They may not learn what happens when baking soda and vinegar mix. They learned exactly what they needed to learn.
They learn that they have worth. They learn that they are not defined by how other people treat them. They learn that they can learn.
Sometimes, we are so preoccupied with making sure that we shove each state standard in every students’ brain. We are taught by society that perfect progress, success and test scores define the student and the teacher.
In reality, all of that is in vain if students don’t know that they are worth dying for. It all means nothing if students continue to walk through the classroom with visions of trauma replaying over and over in their head.
How do we create an environment where that’s the number one priority? I truly don’t know the answer. All I know is that it has to start somewhere.
