Kids. Doesn't matter what they look like; doesn't matter the language they speak. All of them, they grab your heart and squeeze it tight and break off pieces, sometimes big, sometimes small. Morning classes were loud, unruly, and a huge challenge, and even so, a few leave with a wave goodbye and a "when will you be back?" and a handwritten note with hearts and "Te quiero." Then there's the afternoon, and chastising the teasers and cheering on the readers and lines and dots and erasing and "do your best, one more time." There are the Jenga rule stretchers. There's the sweet little girl who asks us to walk her home, and then we learn hard stories from her dad.
but Jesus said, “Let the little children come to me and do not hinder them, for to such belongs the kingdom of heaven.”
So we pray and we teach and we play games and we get dirty and we lean in and we listen and we pray. Let my heart be broken again and again for this.
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