My Manuela

It’s January of 2012 and I’m scribing once again from the Miami International Airport. I’ve decided to set up a permanent office here for blogging: café con leche, Cuban sandwich, feet stretched across airport chairs, all very professional.

Distant memories of a smiling but sleep-deprived version of me come floating into memory as I think back to that August day of my move to the DR, my heart exploding with the excitement of the unknown. Now, after a rich and wonderful Christmas with family in the US, I’m headed back to the island – to my new home. And though I feel so incredibly different from the girl that sat in this terminal on August 27^th, I chuckle as I look at my reflection in the glass and its eerie similarity to the one I saw last time I was here; my hair is still a tangled mess (when it looks like this, my best Dominican friends tell me “You look like a bruja!”), the same purple sacs are hanging under my eyes from complete lack of sleep (last minute packer!), fighting through the jitters to double-fist caffeinated beverages, and to complete the visual, I’m always the chick with luggage issues. On the way it was a pretty rag-tag bag I’d found in the garage the night before I left that didn’t roll, only drug. This time it’s 27 carry-on bags that I’m forced to consolidate into one “personal item” (because the aforementioned rag-tag bag is now growing seven different colors of mold).

I also blush with shame as I realize how few blog posts were made in-between these two Miami Airport visits – praying for diligence and consistency with blogging next semester, and to let go of the impossible idea that every post needs to be a Pulitzer Prize-winning 10,000 words. I’ve lived and learned that the hours upon end that I’m awaiting to compellingly chronicle every unique experience I’ve had leave me with … nothing, as extra time doesn’t just appear out of thin air for us. I have to make it and I have to accept that there is only time for what there’s time for (and aside from that every single one of you is sure to support any movement in the direction of Sarah having to use less words to communicate, verdad? Tell the truth!).

Thus, in the name of conciseness and consistency, I’m fighting the urge to utilize my layover time to recap the entire semester and Christmas break for you at once, including the roller coaster ride of emotions, and detailed descriptions of every single person we’ve met. Instead, in the coming weeks, I’m going to give little themed posts a try, focusing on a special part of something God has done thus far in each one, maybe featuring special people or events at school, or more abstract ideas. I hope you all enjoy this form of re-cap and I’m so very excited to be able to share my life, heart, and experience with you – in healthy little doses. Thank you for reading this blog!

That being said, I would like to dedicate this first themed blog post to Manuela, a student in my first grade class. Anyone who’s ever met Manuela needs no reminder of her unique and unforgettable character. And for those who haven’t had the pleasure, meet Manuela! (See photos above of she and her little sister and older brother, also students at Makarios, and wearing her birthday present, a blue flower pin for her hair.)

Like many teachers that attach easily to their students, I’ve grown to love them all equally in different ways and I’m blessed to have them love me back. Choosing to start with describing Manuela before any other students isn’t meant to show favoritism. I want to tell you about her because she was the first miracle we experienced in our classroom.

When I first met Manuela in the small village of Pancho Mateo before school started, I was struck by how tall she was and how beautiful her almond-shaped eyes were. But unlike the other children who took my hand and led me through the maze of houses in the batey, she ran away from me, laughing and spinning wildly with her tongue sticking out. As she’d fly by she didn’t have too much to say. That’s Manuela, always running in circles around others who walk straight. I was excited to have her in my class, anxious to develop the potential of her energetic spirit.

By the time school started I could snag her out of a full-on sprint for a hug every once in a while. But very soon after the start of the year, Kelvin, Belizeur, and I could see what the consequences of those wild, unrestrained behavioral tendencies were -they didn’t always coincide with being part of a controlled, tranquil learning environment. I was nervous to utilize classroom management techniques that would squelch her personality but there came a time in which we realized that Manuela’s behavior was intensifying daily, overstepping even her previous limits of wildness. The cycle would start with silliness and disrespect, then rejection of reprimand for that, and then it was almost as if something would come over her, troubling her as she worked herself into a frenzy, shouting and writhing around, eventually exhausted and overwhelmed by her own outbursts.

A veteran public school teacher, I racked my brain for every approach I could remember to reach her, to help to calm down, show respect, and to be able to protect her learning from her self-destructiveness. I’m sure along the way I made 1,001 mistakes, making so many futile attempts at employing this or that pedagogy or methodology. I am so lucky to be part of a team who stepped up to help with Manuela whenever and however they could. I remember a day when no less than seven employees were on the stairs of the school with her, trying to calm her down and encouraging her to apologize to the Principal for hollering obscenities at him in Creole. This had come as the explosion from sparks of several days prior when she and I working through issues in the classroom, outside of the classroom, in the restroom, in the office, on the playground, lying on the floor, climbing on tables, jumping up and down. That day on the stairs, I shrank back and sat in the corner and just watched. I wanted to quit. At that moment, I wanted any other position here with his organization than being the first grade teacher, than being Manuela’s teacher.

But our God is good and trustworthy, and in my cowardice, my shrinking back, he wrapped me up and told my heart to trust Him. Trust Him. I had let idealization of teaching children in poverty and the reality of the difficulty of our ministry cause me to want to quit, to not want to do His work, not confident in His ability to bring a solution, or that there was possibly a greater purpose for this experience. I was ready to come and do His work to my preferred level of discomfort. But Manuela is His child and we are here to fight for her turning her face toward her Father, who can soothe and soften and calm her spirit. From that tearful moment on the stairs I couldn’t let go of the word “trust”. I had shown a lack of trust and Manuela was showing me a lack of trust. I needed to foster trust with her, which she values above all else. And that would only take time. The trust that develops when two people experience something difficult together. The trust that is formed when day after day, meltdown after meltdown, I can greet her with a smile on my face and love in my heart for her. And passing through those very situations, trust began to grow, as did a closeness that is now incredibly powerful.

Manuela was more than worth the fight. After that awful afternoon on the stairs, Kelvin, Belizeur and I began to pray for her daily. Other staff members prayed for her. We prayed over her chair in the classroom. We all prayed for trust to build between us amidst the changes she’s experienced this school year with new teachers and the ongoing hardships she faces everyday living life in poverty. We sang hymns in moments of behavioral difficulty.

The change was hard to pinpoint chronologically but was nevertheless dramatic when we suddenly realized that a week had gone by since she’d been to the Principal’s office. I had promised her at the start of school, throwing any incentive I could think of at her for good behavior, that if she went a full week without getting in trouble I’d walk her from the Makarios School to public school, which she attends in the afternoon after leaving us. Of course, that Friday that her prize was to be claimed she’d left her public school uniform at home. But to keep my promise I walked her to Pancho Mateo to pick it up, and then all the way back to public school. It was a very special walk for us. Hand in hand, she showed me how to cross the river to the batey of Pancho, rolling up my pants and pointing out where to step in places it was most shallow. She knows this because she does it every day to walk to school herself.

These days, Manuela is shining. Academically, she was in the middle of the class at the start of the school year but she’s advancing quickly, becoming one of our top students, putting syllables together to read words and very quick in math. She’s taking great pride in her good behavior and progress. And though every day’s not perfect, she has many more good days than bad now, and hasn’t visited the Principal, other than good visits, in a long while.

I look forward to our walks in the afternoons now. After a hectic day I value the time to speak to her one-on-one, and listen to what’s on her young heart. Sometimes we sing, because we have the same favorite song out of those we sing with the children for devotionals.

I love my little Manuela so very much, and I am so grateful for her. I thank God for our experience together because through her He has revealed yet another piece of Himself to me. I understand a little more about unconditional love, a love that surpasses mistakes, frustration, sin, and disobedience. I understand how heartbreaking it must be to watch us knowingly make bad decisions, and then to share in our sadness with us, as we realize the consequences of what we’ve done and feel truly repentant for it. I understand the leaps and bounds a relationship can grow and strengthen when one trusts another, as she now trusts me and as I learn to trust Him, seeing Him come through for me yet again in this situation.

It is my prayer for my Manuela, that in my mercies for her which are new every morning, she sees her Father, whose mercies are new for us every morning. Please pray for God to continue to grant me the strength and spirit to show her His love every day, and please remember to pray for Manuela, and the rest of our unforgettable children!