Observing Daily Life

"I applied my heart to what I observed and learned a lesson from what I saw." 

Proverbs 24:32

How often do you simply observe?  Can you say that in your day, you can remember a specific detail and describe it without placing your natural biases?  What do you do with observations?  

Everyday at Jireh Home is something different.  I know that every Monday, Wednesday and Thursday I will teach an hour of English, either to primary school students or secondary school students.  The rest of my time I originally considered time to support the staff and students with the things I can give.  My observations, however, have been teaching me otherwise.  

In class,  I see smiling faces, blank stares into space, girls, boys, young and old, eager and bored students in both classes.  I hear the calls of "Saya, saya (me, me)" of one student ready to answer, the giggles as I mistakenly switched two boys names for the whole class without knowing it, the constant refrains of various pop songs with not quite perfect lyrics, and excited cries of "Go Fish," one of the kid's favorite games from brother Jacob three years ago.  

I hear the horses who belong to our neighbors, the crickets and frogs in the yard,  the constant Malay around the house that I can almost understand.  I taste rice, sour/spicy mango mix my friend Lebiana made for dinner, chicken cooked with the bones in, small, whole fried fish, lots of Milo, and a little bit of peanut butter as a daily reminder of home.  

I smell the water that builds up in the gutters after the daily rain, the fried eggs we had for dinner last night, the swamp-like puddles in our dirt road driveway as I walk home.  I feel the mud squish under my feet, the hands of the younger girls as we walk around the block before dinner, hugs from the girls, the flower I was given before I went home today, the cool breeze from the fan in the living room and the constant stares from curious people in town.  

And those observations barely scratch the surface.  I also see 31 kids of all ages from incredibly different and likely what we would consider "tough" backgrounds take care of each other.  I watch them work together to ensure the house is clean, sing songs in Chinese, Malay or English for visitors, do each other's hair, race down the street in the neighborhood, find puppies in the field across the street, boss each other around, fight, and share chairs when there are so many available less then ten steps away.  I laugh as the younger girls quickly do as the older ones ask, bringing them their backpacks, pouring their tea for minum patang (afternoon drink), and moving if they occupy a desirable location.   I see the some of the older students in class I (primary school English I teach) sitting at the table with the younger ones, mostly helping them understand.   I watch as the younger girls protectively bonded around one of their roommates who was having a rough week;  as the older girls gathered to talk, debrief, gossip and giggle in rapid Malay during their evening free time.  And I hear so many welcoming and inviting calls of Sister, that sometimes I forget my name is actually Kelly. 

I am included in this community, this place where people take care of each other simply because that is what they do.  The kids offer me their loot from town, chopped mango with some sort of sauce that makes it quite sour or even spicy.  They constantly include me in their games, trying not to laugh too hard as I clumsily jump over a knee high rope they gracefully leap when its higher than their heads.  The girls make my normally boring ponytail into something exciting, and consider it a treat to have me sit at the table with them while they study.  The boys gently kick the soccer ball my way after showing off and are patient enough to explain the basic rules of takraw (volleyball using only your feet  and head).  And the staff spoil me completely, almost always serving me food, constantly checking to see if I am hungry, thirsty or tired, doing my laundry for me during my first week there, and buying me things from favorite places in Tuaran.  In return, I don't laugh with them when they make fun of the habits I didn't know I had - the noises I make when I understand, the face I make when I'm confused, my incredibly short, bitten finger nails, and my constant inability to get out of bed at normal Sabah time (6 am) to go jogging with Pastor Repeih.    

The acceptance, love and care of in this place forms the truest sense of community, a real and unique family.  I have been learning that in community, sometimes it is best to receive rather than give, to do nothing rather than help, and to be taught rather than teach.