Rawinala

Five minutes into the tour, I was regretting the decision to bring my students to Rawinala and looking for someone to blame for this misguided venture.

An hour later – as we sat and watched the Rawinala students perform a few songs – I started to hope that a few of my own class would see the Rawinala kids as more than just “those kids with disabilities.”

By the time we left our classroom for the day, it was evident that God had moved all of our hearts. Mine included.

The students at Rawinala all have Multiple Disabilities with Visual Impairment (MDVI) which means that they all have a visual impairment and (at least) one other diagnosed disability.  For my SPH students that have spent their life in relative luxury, the sight of another child with their eyes glossed over with cataracts, or eyelids so misshapen that vision is impossible, is shocking. They balked and cringed and gasped – yes, out loud.

I tried to find a rock to hide under.

While all of this squirming and pushing to get to the back of the group was going on (unheard of in grade 3, by the way; they always want to be at the front of the line), the director at the school patiently explained about the various disabilities that the students had and the ways the school helped them.  She introduced Rawinala students by name, and talked about all of the things that they were able to do despite being blind, or deaf, or in some cases, both.  She talked about the facilities and the features that made it possible for some of the students to navigate the hallways independently.

Shock begin to give way to wonder.

The tension evident in the students’ hunched shoulders began to melt away.

And then a blind student from Rawinala got one of my kids in a bear hug.  Nothing malicious.  Just trying to say hi the only way she knew how.

And another grabbed a hat off of a boy’s head and plopped it atop her own head. 

Three steps forward, two steps back.

More pushing to get to the back and even a cry of “I’m scared.”

Who’s ready to interview your student?

Thanks to a group of amazing moms – who swallowed their own discomfort to confidently lead students to nearby classrooms – small groups of my grade 3 kids were able to navigate a questionnaire about some of the basic day-to-day experiences for the students at Rawinala.  At this point, I think that most of my kids went into “classroom mode” as they whipped out their clipboards and began filling in the boxes on their papers.  A worksheet is a comfortable place to be when you’re eight (especially when the alternative is to try and hold a “real” conversation with a child who can’t see you and might try and touch your face without warning).

Group after group began to finish the interviews and we all made our way back to the main meeting hall. As the director had shared during the tour, many of the students have a passion for – and are gifted in – music, and they wanted to share a few songs with us. 

Again, wonder began to fall over my students. 

“They’re really good, Ms Stacy!”

…

Fast forward to when we arrived back at school.  We were at a pivotal moment in the day. That moment where you want to check out and just put on a film because you’ve been gone all morning and you just need to get through the next hour until dismissal.  That moment where you know the students need to process this experience with some sort of debriefing activity before the whole event melts into being just another “field trip.”

In the words of Ms Sarah and Ms Jenae: “The struggle is real.”

Let’s do this.

Not knowing what responses to expect (usually not a good sign), I challenged my students to work in groups to compare/contrast themselves with the students at Rawinala. I figured, even if they were terribly calloused and offensive responses (as in: “I have a beautiful face and they are deformed”) it would at least create a teachable moment.  Even with post-excursion fatigue setting in, I was confident I could muster up a lecture about loving all of God’s children, despite their appearances. 

Little did I know that they were about to teach me a lesson. A lesson about the invisible work of the Holy Spirit. Work that had been going on for hours, behind the scenes, in each of their hearts as they watched and listened and soaked in the day. 

We both go to school.

He lives at school, but I live at home.

We both eat rice. (you can laugh, it’s okay)

She knows how to read Braille, but I couldn’t feel the difference in those little dots.

We both have families.

She knows who you are by feeling your face, I can’t do that! (side note: they tried)

We’re both children of God.

He knows where his classroom is by the instrument on the door, I just read the sign.

We’re both loved.

He washes his own dishes, but I don’t know how to do that.

God loves us.

God loves us.

God loves us.

God loves us.

It was on every poster. Every. Single. One. (yes, even "that" group's poster)

And that’s when I knew they got it.

And when I knew that they definitely didn’t need a lecture from me.

They didn’t need to be explicitly taught about how precious each of us is in God’s eyes. They had witnessed firsthand the deformity and hardship and perseverance and joy.  They saw the struggle and saw the victory. They witnessed the giftedness bestowed on students that – at first glance – didn’t look like they’d have much to offer. 

Now, I’d be lying to say that on our return trip, my kids jumped off the bus and wrapped their friends at Rawinala in bear hugs to say hello.  I can’t claim that they were eager – or even willing – to sit side-by-side with one of the Rawinala students as we shared another time of music. 

But as I sat next to a young boy – a boy who grabbed my hand, felt my watch and wedding band and spent the whole song alternating between spinning my ring on my finger, tracing the edges of my watch, and clapping his hand with mine – I knew that this whole thing was, and is, a process. They aren’t ready for a strange child to touch them and pull on their things and feel for their face.  They’re eight.  Some of them nine.

But they’re on their way. They’ve taken the first steps. And I’m excited to see where this journey takes them.