Crying Over School Supplies

Walking down the aisles of Walmart, the back-to-school section took me back. No. Not back to fifth grade. Back to 4 weeks ago when I didn't realize the value of a pencil or a pad of paper or a book. I blinked back the tears as I passed aisle upon aisle of brightly colored notepads, binders with puppies and butterflies, glittery pencils, shiny pens, calculators, sharpeners, dividers, hole punchers - every possible school supply a kid could ever want (and probably only half of which they would ever need.)

"What is wrong with me?!" I thought as I hurriedly scurried by the aisles while pushing back tears.

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My mind took me back to a rock pile in the slums of Soweto where I'd sat to rest from digging trenches that would be filled with concrete to form the footings of the schoolhouse we were building. A group of the 5th year girls were on break and came to sit by me. Selma, one of my favorite girls, sidled up beside me as the girls and I began to talk about their school and studies and the types of things 14 year old girls talk about. I noticed Selma twirling a pencil in her fingers that was nearing the end of its' life. It couldn't have been more than 2 inches long.

"Your pencil is getting awful short Selma! Does the school give you a new one when it runs out?" I asked probing to see how that kind of thing worked at the school she attended.

"Well the school gives you only one at a certain time…" she offered up and then trailed off.

I prodded more, "And then do you get another when it's gone. Or what do you do?"

"Well if it runs out, then you will have to borrow someone else's each time you want to write. And then you get a new one when the school issues them again. Or if your parents can afford it, they buy you a new one."

Afford a pencil? The idea didn't even make sense to me. Afford a pencil? It sounded so absurdly foreign to me…

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I was now passing the school supplies on my way back through the store.

"Hold it together Brittany!" I urged myself as I deliberately quickened my step past them blinking away the emotion.

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Again I was back in Kenya. In a small classroom with the nursery-age children. The drab cement brick walls gave way to a doorway and single large open window that allowed ample sunlight into the classroom. Each of the little wooden desks sat three to four of the adorable "nursery" children ranging from two and a half to three years old. Their little eyes staring at me would light up as I made eye contact with them. Some shyly smiling back, others waving with delight. I sat at the teacher's desk with her as she handed me a stack of small composition books.

"Right now they are working on copying patterns. We need to write in each of these books the pattern that they need to copy and then we give it to them and they copy it below," she said as she opened to a blank page of the book on the top of the pile and signaled for me to begin.

"Boy this would be easier with a copy machine!" I thought to myself as I put my pencil on the page of the first book and began to write.

"Copy Pattern." I wrote at the top of the page and drew a zig zagged line just below the instruction then grabbed the next book as the teacher called out each student's name to come get their book and begin to trace. Thirty or so books later, I began to roam the room to see how they were doing on their copying. Some had perfect zig zags traced over and over again down each line of the page. Others were struggling with the task and I would lean down, grab their small hand in mine along with the pencil and help them make the sharp pattern across a couple of lines until they understood the motion necessary to create such a pattern. I noticed some of the children didn't have a book.

"Why don't some of them have composition books?" I asked the teacher as I finished helping the last of the children.

"Some have parents that can't afford it," she said matter-of-factly.

"So what do they do if they don't have one?" I asked even though I was pretty sure I already knew the answer.

"They just don't do the assignments," she said as she collected a book from a child that had just finished.

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Phew! I made it past the school supplies. They had told us it would be hard coming home and answering questions about how our trip was and acclimating to life back at home and I wasn't sure how much I believed them. Until I got home. Now I couldn't even make it through a trip at Wal-mart?! What a wreck!

Strolling past the women's section I turned the corner and headed up the aisle to begin my grocery shopping at the back of the store and work my way forward. Girls apparel. Of course. Of course I would tear up at girls apparel. Why wouldn't I?!? The racks and racks of purple and pink striped overalls, denim dresses with pink bows, Hannah Montana shirts to the hearts content and glitter-studded jeans wracked my heart with guilt and sadness!

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The last day of our work at the school in Nairobi, we drove up to a wonderful sight of the entire school outside dancing and singing. They had all come out to give us a warm welcome as we started the day. I was tired and emotionally drained as I stood back and watched. I wanted to take it all in so I would never forget it. I wanted to freeze that memory in my brain so that when I came home I would remember Kenya as I had experienced it. Not the glamour of a photograph, but the raw reality of what I had experienced - the smells, the sounds, the everyday Soweto slums that we had experienced.

One of the little girls had her back turned to me and I noticed all of the buttons on her dress had fallen off so that the back of the dress hung open. She couldn't wear a different dress as the one she had on was her school uniform and probably the only one she had. She wore a t-shirt underneath to remedy the missing buttons. I looked around. There were lots of missing buttons on dresses, tattered sleeves, holes in shoes, thread-bare shirts.

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Those children wouldn't be able to comprehend this warehouse full of school supplies and clothes just as I couldn't fathom what it would mean to not be able to afford a pencil. Walking past those aisles of school supplies and clothing symbolized to me everything those children would never have. As I hurriedly tried to usher these thoughts out of my mind as to not become overly emotional (because really who isn't totally creeped out by a woman crying in the little girls' section of a Walmart Super Center?), visions of their beautiful smiles and warm eyes filled my mind. Their voices filled my head…

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"Do you sing?" one of the girls asked me.

"I do actually. I sing a little," I answered shyly.

"Sing something for us! Sing something for us!" the small group of girls chimed in together.

"Ok fine I'll sing something for you, but then you all have to sing for me!" I said as I racked my brain for a song to sing.

Anyone who knows me knows that I sing all the time. All day long. But the moment you ask me to sing something for you, my mind goes blank. I don't know what to sing.

"I'm trying to think of a song," I admitted with a slight blush of embarrassment at taking so long to find something to sing. I could think of church songs - lots of church songs, but that was about it. This was my first day in Nairobi and I didn't want them thinking I was some sort of weirdo coming in and singing about God.

"Whitney Houston!" one of them offered up.

"Ok! I know a song of hers," I said. I began singing, "If I could stay…" I sang the first verse and chorus of I Will Always Love You then turned to them, "Ok you guys have to sing now."

It took them less than 5 seconds to choose a song and begin singing. It was a song about God. About His goodness. About His mercies. About His love.

The longer I was in Kenya, the more I realized the Kenyans were not ashamed to sing about God. At almost every school or orphanage we went to, they would sing about how great God was and how wonderful His love was. People who had nothing thanking Him for everything. It was eye opening.

As little as they possess, they have more direction and understanding than many people will ever experience. As I walked away from the girls apparel section, I laughed at myself, "I can't believe I was getting teary-eyed at Wal-mart over pencil sharpeners and Hannah Montana shirts!"

I have a dichotomy of feelings for those sweet African children. On one hand I feel sorrow for everything they lack; everything that we are blessed with here that some of them will never know. On the other hand, and more importantly, I am inspired by what they hold dear; everything that they know that some will never understand. As sad as I may feel for their lack in material goods, I am inspired by their richness in spiritual goods. Their belief in God and their faith make them far richer and far more prepared than any Walmart school supplies or Hannah Montana shirt could ever offer.

Climbing the Mountain

Life has been a series of heartaches and triumphs this past little while. I've found myself calling on the Lord and wondering if He is listening to me. But He keeps placing small instances in my life that help me know He IS there and He IS listening. I'd like to share yet another lesson in love I was taught today.

My heart was weighing heavily this morning. Disappointments and doubts, fears and worries were causing me to question the Lords ability to really hear and answer my prayers. So I decided he might listen better if I ventured out on a walk. Either way, I had to get out, or I was going to go mad!

I grabbed my scriptures and headed for the door. "Lord, I want answers and I want them now! If I show you I'm trying, you HAVE to show me you're listening!" (Sometimes I take the less-than-humble approach to life - I'm so grateful the Lord has patience. haha) I stepped out on to the street. "Well now what? Where should I go? Lord, where do you want me to go?" I challenged the heavens. This little conversation with myself lasted for a quick minute as I aimlessly walked down the sidewalk slowly.

"Don't be silly Brittany, the Lord doesn't really care where you go."

"Oh. I thought he might. Well he should! I'm struggling here! And He needs to show me He's listening."

"Well He does't care where you go. Just get somewhere!"

"Lord, ok maybe you don't care where I go, but if you do, then I'll keep walking and you just guide me."

I proceeded in doubt as my mind told me, "Eh, just go right." I wanted to find a hill to climb. Somewhere quiet on top of a hill where I could think and pray and just enjoy some alone time, but I'd never been to any of the hills around me. In fact, I wasn't sure if there were hills close enough that I could find to climb. I had reluctantly decided I might just have to settle for a roadside curb along the way.

These thoughts swam around in my mind as I walked down the sidewalk of the sidestreet I had just turned on. "Look right." I looked. Inbetween two apartment buildings was a hill terraced with cement drainage that I'd noticed before, but had forgotten about and had certainly never given thought to climbing.

"You can climb that hill."

"Well it looks kind of steep and there is too much brush to climb through in my flip flops," I argued with myself.

"Quit being a baby! You grew up in Agua Dulce. You can climb that hill."

I turned toward the hill and scaled it with my eyes. How was I going to get up it? I started climbing up the steep cement drainage line that ran perpendicularly down the hill. I figured the roughness of the cement would grip against the rubber bottom of my flip flops. A few steps up proved to be successful. "Alright! This will be easier than I thought!" Suddenly I started to slip. The water that had flow down the drain had caused it to become more slick as I moved up the hill. I slid halfway down the small portion I had just climbed. "Well that won't work."

I refused to give up. My heart was now set on climbing this hill. I stepped outside of the cement drainage and onto the dirt hill on one side of it. "Step on the small shrubs that line the drain. Those will hold your footing as you make your way to the top." Step by step I struggled as I tried to hold my footing on the small patches of shrubs I could find and sometimes the bare dirt I was forced to trust as I made my way up this small stretch of the hill. Finally I reached a small terrace, one of the four that had been made to guard the hill from pouring water down on the surrounding apartments when it rained. I looked at the next stretch between the first and second terrace.

"This doens't look as hard as the last one. I can do this. Just stick with the method used on the first."

I made my way up the steep hill slowly. Bracing my steps on small rocks and vegetation I could find along the way. I had a few small slips, but made it to the second terrace with more ease than the first.

"Is this high enough? Should I rest here?"

"No. You can get up higher and the view from here just isn't as good as I'm sure it is at the top. Plus, another terrace up and you'll be further away from the sounds and distractions of everything going on below."

This third hill proved to be much easier. The vegetation as I made my way up the hill became more and more sparse, but I didn't need it. I was able to climb the hill alone with little assistance from rocks and shrubs along the way. The third terrace. A good place to rest. But I was so close to the top.

"Just get to the top. It will be worth it."

I began to walk up. Then everything inside of me wanted to run to the top. The closer I got, the more I wanted to be there. The more I knew the view from up there would be so much better. The feeling of reward would be worth it. I sprinted until it flattened out then turned to see what was worth the run. It was a beautiful view from the top. I could see the whole valley that had been behind me as I climbed and also around to the other side of the hill that dropped down into another valley.

The irony of my climb hit me as I breathed in the beauty around me and the small lesson that had just unfolded in front of me. As I left my home, I had no direction, but I asked the Lord to guide me. Climbing the steep hill was hard at first. It was slippery and self-doubt made me fear I wouldn't actually be able to make it up. But with each milestone of acheivement I yearned to climb higher and, as I climbed higher, I no longer needed the assitance of the things around to help with struggle up the mountain. As I neared the top, I knew that what was up there was what I had left my home searching out originally. I knew that from the top, I would be able to see so much more. And I did. From the top of the mountain I could see that the Lord did care where I went from the moment I left my home. I just had to ask, then follow, and continue to climb against the struggles and slips. As I neared the top, it became easier and easier and the desire to get higher grew and grew. And the view from the top was beautiful.

Help Me Make a World of Difference

In June of this year I will be joining the organization, World of Difference, on a trip to Kenya for two and a half weeks where I will have the opportunity to serve and change lives. A trip that will no doubt change my life forever.

World of Difference gives African children a chance by helping communities build schools and train teachers, as well as assisting them with supplies needed to provide a proper education.

While there we will be working hand in hand with locals from the community in the building of a school as well as painting, and teaching. We will also be working with a number of other orphanages and small projects during our time in Kenya.

What a great way to celebrate the comforts we have in our lives by taking the opportunity to change the lives of those less fortunate. Donations toward my trip will be used for building materials as well as necessary supplies and toys that we will be taking with us for the children.

Join with me in making a world of difference for someone else!  Donations can be made through PayPal by clicking on the "donate" button below: 

Welcome to Me

For my first blog (which is actually a test blog) I would like to welcome myself to the world of blogging. This is brand new for me and I'm looking forward to creating a space mainly for myself to document my life and act as another liason for people to keep updated on my life (as if Facebook and Myspace weren't enough right?!?) Anyway, welcome to my page and lots of love!