I’m tired. I’m hungry because it’s been 2 hours since I had breakfast. Man, these kids really need to be quiet. They’re being so disrespectful! These thoughts all run through my head as I work another day as a summer teacher/counselor for underprivileged kids – a job I chose as a People in Mission intern.
“Step back a minute, Taylor,” I remind myself. Look at the complaints, the miniscule things that are preventing you from really seeing these children.
One of my goals or prayers for this summer, at the beginning of this program, was to live in the moment and really allow myself to dig deeper into these kids’ lives to make a difference. And I’m complaining about being hungry.
The day was going along as normal, nothing special, just walking back and forth from the cafeteria to the classroom, doing class activities and calling kids out for talking and being out of their seat.
The afternoon came soon and the kids had some free time, so we put on Space Jam for them to watch and have some time to rest. And it wasn’t until all the kids had fallen asleep in their sleeping bags with their pillows and blankets on the cold, hard floor that all my problems seemed unimportant. All these kids were sleeping so soundly in a room that, to me, felt freezing cold. It smelled like pencil led apple sauce and capri-sun. The movie was loud and there’s no way I would have been able to sleep with all the noise. The light from the partially broken blinds was streaming in from the window and not to mention I was in a strange place. But none of this mattered to these kids. All these kids were fast asleep amongst the noise, the light, the temperature, the small and the unfamiliar surroundings. Maybe the unfamiliar thing was better than what they’re used to. Maybe the familiar smell of urine or the sound of passing cars or parents fighting is the alternative. Within this classroom, all these children are allowed a break from the reality of their situations. They laugh, they learn, and most of all, they sleep.
They sleep in their hour of quiet chaos that constantly surrounds them wherether they go.
I realize now that my time with them here is not to be a teacher. It is not to discipline. It is not to make them stand in a straight line. It is to provide quiet. These kids look to the quiet of my life that they can get a taste of before they get back on the bus to go back to the chaos.
I am the quiet chaos.
