A Typical Morning

My hand lifted to wipe away loose stands of hair that were sticking to my forehead and the heel of my hand followed, attempting to dry the sweat that had formed and was falling in drops down my face. My eyes blurred as the bright sun forced them to close for a moment. My gaze fell to the ground, where white chalk outlined the volleyball court. Beyond the court was a massive open field where the school of over 10,000 students would gather to play various sports like handball, football (soccer) and the national sport of field hockey. Students in uniforms crossed the field on their way to class, their gazes holding intently to our white faces. I waved at one line of students. The solemn stares that had been studying my face instantly changed to large grins, shy giggles and waves of hello in return. As the team warmed up before the volleyball match, students began to gather near the court, curiosity drawing them closer, closer, closer to the white chalk boundary. I turned to one group of boys, smiled, drew my hands up together near my chin and said, “Vanakkam”…my attempt at saying hello in the beautiful language of Tamil. Their eyes grew wide and their smiles, already big, grew even bigger. Did I use the word “shy” earlier? That description never entered my thoughts again for the rest of our time at the school. As soon as the greeting left my lips the boys began saying things to me all at the same time: “Where are you from?” “How are you?” “You from America?” “What is your name?” All the English they had been taught came tumbling out of their mouths in an instant as if they felt they only had seconds left to speak to me. Each one looked at me, hoping for a response to their question. Sometimes my answer wasn’t good enough for the entire group…they each wanted to ask the same question and hear my same response back to them. They wanted my eyes to focus on them, as a unique person, and to hear my words directed back at them, as a unique person. They each had names - oh how I wanted to remember each of their names! - but there were so many and some of the names were so difficult, I had to quickly let go of that hope. Instead, I prayed that my attempt to see EACH of them, to recognize them, to hear them, would be enough for this time. My answers of “Marcie” “Colorado” “America” “Volleyball” soon were interrupted by the sound of a game whistle. The boys hustled back in a line to watch the game that was soon to begin. Throughout the match, the crowd of students increased as they slowly inched closer to the white boundary line, giggling hysterically when a ball would fly out of bounds and hit one of them. I felt their hands around my chair and their faces crowding over my shoulder as I kept the score for the match on a piece of paper. My tally marks were such a curious thing for them to see and I heard them whispering and talking and explaining to each other as another point would be scored and I would mark another line on the sheet. “7, 9” one would say and the ripple of voices would go out from there “7,9”, “7,9” “7,9” until another point would be scored and the wave of voices would change to “7,10”. My hand lifted to wipe the hair and sweat away once again. It didn’t seem to do any good, but it was a habit that formed the first day I arrived. The game ended and as the girls came off the court, drenched with sweat and tired from the heat, they were surrounded by students, all wanting to ask the questions they had asked me. They just wanted to touch, be seen and get close to these girls who traveled from America to play a sport they love and offer words of love from a God who sees each of these children…a God who knows their names…a God who longs to speak to them and let them know that He loves them.

All too soon we piled into the van to take us to the next location, where we would be watched by new faces, asked the same questions, and where we would see the same hope and longing to be seen and noticed. The game would begin, the shyness would wear off and new friends would be made.