“How was your day at school today?” I asked the 13-year-old Bedouin boy.
“Eh, I have problems with teacher,” he responded.
“What happened?”
“He hit me,” he said, while motioning with his hand that he’d been stricken across the face. His cheek was, in fact, red. Up until that point I hadn’t really noticed. He just looked flushed. I could imagine this feisty, smart as can be boy getting into trouble. I couldn’t, however, imagine anyone lifting a hand to his beautiful face.
The same night we’d taken an intermission from our 2-hour English lesson to play a game with the kids. I soon realized we were surrounded by the boys and the girls were nowhere to be found. I asked my 13-year-old friend where the girls had gone.
“They can’t. They don’t, uh…” he struggled to find the right words and instead motioned to his head. I realized that they were without a head covering.
“I understand,” I said.
We took the game back inside.
I can’t imagine.
I can’t imagine not being able to play outside as a child simply because I was born a woman.
I can’t imagine being hit by a teacher and my parents not marching to the school to demand an explanation.
While teaching these kids I’ve wanted to hug them and show them the love and acceptance I’ve been given, but am fearful because I don’t know all of the rules.
Following rules to gain acceptance is no way to live. Being accepted not because of what I’ve done, but because of what someone else did with me in mind is the life I want for them.
The work we’ve been doing is going into a Bedouin village and building relationships by teaching kids of all ages English. We’re working alongside contacts who live here and who’ve dedicated about three years to this work. They are using a model in which they go into the village and fulfill physical needs with the goal of fulfilling spiritual needs not far behind. But everything must be done carefully because anyone who changes his/her faith can be hurt or even killed.
My 13-year-old friend told me his favorite subject is history and he enjoys learning about Islam the most. I listened to him talk about it. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t wish in that moment that he knew about Jesus so his life wouldn‘t be about rules, but about grace. I did. And I still do.
Would I ever force my beliefs on a child? No way. Do I pray that somehow, some way God will use my teammates and me to make them wonder about why we do what we do? All the time.
