Kezia

 

People come into your life for a reason, a season, or a lifetime.

 

I met Kezia several times in my life.

 

I can recall clearly my first encounter with her.

I was serving in a brand-new building. We didn’t even have any desk in the teacher’s office! There was no running water. The workers had not finished with the project. You could hear hardware tools everywhere. The faculty toilet was still locked, and nobody knew who had the key. There was no water nor power supply. We brought our drinking water, lest we thirst the whole day. It was certainly no fun way to meet someone new in anyone’s life!

 

There she was, sitting on a folding chair in the hallway.

A girl with pigtails, chubby cheeks and the biggest smile I’d ever seen. She was looking for a school. She’d been turned down by many before. Because she had spina bifida and hydrocephalus.

 

I teased her. “School is hard, you know? I give lots of homework and quizzes.” She told me in business matter: “I want to go to school. I promise I will go to school.”

 

She kept her promise.

Kezia became one of best students. She gave it all. Even when it took all she’d got to even physically attend school. Her schoolmates absolutely loved her. They played hide-and-seek at recess. They took turn to deliver her lunch upstairs from the school cafeteria, because the school building didn’t have an elevator. They fought for the seats next to hers at school assemblies or circle times. She was the living exhibit of a successful inclusion.

 

Days turned into years.

She left that school. Due to her deteriorating health, she had to have numerous surgeries. She had to do so in the middle of her family’s financial crisis. Her family could not afford the tuition fees. We didn’t give up, though. We sneaked out and delivered worksheets for her. Years later, she told me she brought those worksheets to work on in the hospital. Those worksheets became her lifeline – the only reminder of “normal” life. They provided her with sanity she needed to keep on living. Years after, I left that school as well. I felt I had a higher calling to answer.

 

I was in my comfort zone.

I taught in a school established by my church. All the PK’s attended my classes. I knew everyone, and everyone knew me. I live 10 minutes’ worth of driving from that school. I never finished 1 song on the CD from my front gate to the school’s parking lot. I got paid so well that I went on vacations at least twice a year. Yet there was a nudge inside me. That was not where I belong. That was not where I was needed most.

 

It wasn’t easy to say good-bye.

I cried many tears when I left. The students’ parents visited me to prove that I wasn’t teaching somewhere else. They still called me to make sure their children serve in the school Christmas Service. We still keep in touch today. That’s how much we cherish each other. I guess they can tell that I love my kiddos to death. Although there are days when I wondered whether I should’ve worked in a bank….

 

I visited her and we had noodles party for lunch.

I thought I was the generous one. I was so ashamed, though, when I learned that in the hospital, she visited the other children in her area. She gave hope and offered prayers to children who were terminally ill. She gave words of encouragement despite her own physical pain. She sang songs for children who cried in spite of her family’s no knowing how to cover the hospital bills.

 

We had to tell her tales.

Kezia’s mom decided to write her journey. To raise funds, and to raise hope for others. I helped her searching for any publisher who would read her drafts. With cold shoulders, they told us they would do it for a minimum amount of printings. We kept on searching, until we found Fanny Lesmana -- a lady who’d become a dear friend and a fellow lecturer at Petra Christian University.

 

I found her again.

This time, thanks to Instagram. Just like girls her age, she had an IG account. That’s how I tracked her down. I booked her to share her story in my class.

I am in a different stage of life now.

I teach student-teachers at a Christian University. I fervently instill the love for students with special needs to my students. After 4 years, they will become teachers. If could share the flame to 20 student-teachers each year, I believe I pass the torch to them. Let them reach different parts of the country, and even the world, and ignite this light. I believe that one day, in Indonesia, there will be no student who slips off the crack of their teachers’ fingers.

 

Today, Kezia did that exact same job.

She shared her life to my students. Thanks to the Pandemic, classes are taught online, and I could “invite” her, and others to our class. For the first time since we all had to stay home (6 months ago!!), we sang a song together again. This time, tearfully. Once again, she became the living exhibit that nothing could stop the flame inside. Nothing should be an excuse good enough not to encourage or whip you off. Under no circumstances should you have a pity party. Later on, on our class’ Learning Management System Wall, each student told me how much Kezia has taught them within minutes. Obviously, like me, they had met such a strong lady who loves Jesus so much that she just cannot help but sharing Him to anyone who would listen.

 

Today, my students made a new friend. I pray that, just like me, they will meet Kezia – and other Kezias – several times in their lives. Kezias whom God put in their lifetimes to become reminders of His love to children with special needs. And when we meet again in our Heavenly Father’s home one day, what a joy it would be!

 

Surabaya, 23 September 2020

Clay

 

Clay

          I seem to have a gift which only a few can perform: I can make a grown-up cry with one question. I just cringe every time it happens.

          I have been following Clay’s story for years. Since he was a toddler. His parents often share his progresses and setbacks. I devour each story. I read them again and again. Probably because I relate to him in terms of how it must feel like, living with Learning Disabilities.

          Clay is handsome and smart. He is such a delight to behold. His comments are short yet hit you hard. Partly because he has limited ways to describe his everyday life.

Clay’s parents suspected something must be wrong when they saw that he has been a very quiet boy. His abilities were also limited, compared to his elder brother.

Clay was diagnosed with Speech and Language Disorder early in his life. In Indonesia, people often call this special needs by “speech delay.” This term has become so common that people do not bother to check the scientific term.

You see, there is a very  limited amount and access to information, let alone formal education on special education in Indonesia. Information is strictly limited to those who speak English, who then gather information from the Internet. Access to information is more strictly limited to those who know some key words, who then also gather information from the internet. In fact, it does not work that way when you seek for professional help.

Don’t get me wrong. Clay’s parents are well-educated. They have graduate degrees from a reputable School of Theology. And they both teach. Therefore they know the urgency of early interventions. They meet numerous pediatricians who claim to be experts on child development. They dedicate their time and energy to seek for therapies for Clay.

Parents who have a child with special need usually undergo the same shock upon learning about their child’s condition. It takes them a while to overcome the hollow sound of the initial diagnosis. Then it punches them powerfully: that life would never be the same. Their conversations would be different from other families.  Their daily schedules would be drawn around therapies, accompanying the child to review their lessons at home, learning new strategies to cope with various surprises, to name a few.

Some of the parents even told me that they undergo a grieving process. They have a great loss, knowing that their child would never accomplish his or her peers’ achievements at the same rate and speed. Inasmuch as they yearn to, they might not observe stages of life such as play-dates, playing board games together, or “normal” arguments. Some children will never tell their parents, “I love you” in words. Some children will never be able to move their muscles to wave or even smile at Mom and Dad.

For some parents, their child’s teachers are God-sent lifesaver. For a few hours each day, they can run errands, or juggle careers. For a few hours, they can rest assure that their child is in a good hands. For a few hours, they know where their child is: in a safe and secured place such as schools.

Yet for some other parents, most teachers would never comprehend that it takes them all they have in order to send their child to school, fully dressed, each and every day. Those teachers would call Mom or Dad about missing homework or school supplies. Those teachers would nag that the parents have not gone through the lessons at home. That this child has not learned the way his peers do. That this child is not smart enough to earn his spot in that particular classroom.

When all your life you have been getting the same message over and over, you would tend to believe that it is true. The child sees that his parents are frustrated whenever he makes the same mistakes. The child hears the teachers raise their voices at him over the lessons. The child senses that his classmates decipher foreign language in strange codes which he cannot digest. The child internalize that he is different. That he is slower.

Problem is, Mom is the school principal in Clay’s elementary school. All teachers know him as the principal’s son. Dad is the pastor at their church. All congregation know him as the Pastor’s Kid. At such a young age, Clay already carries baggage larger than life. People expect him to live up to their expectation. Which is not fair, even cruel at times.  

One day, Clay stared at his brothers’ trophies. He quietly made a comment, “Koko (elder brother) has a lot of trophies.” His parents asked him what he meant. He told them that he had none. He never won anything in his life.

The formal school curriculum often demand students to read texts and write down their answers. For children with Learning Disabilities, this is a physical torture. For general education teachers, these students become additional task. Clay’s parents are concerned when they start looking for a middle school for him. In his current placement, there are 24 students in each class. And already Clay shows signs of struggle. How can he survive in a regular middle school setting where students move class at each period? How can he spend 3 years in such setting?

Homeschools are not the norm in Indonesia. The government has not designed a curriculum for students to pursue formal education in the comfort of the environment they are familiar with. Therefore, finding school settings for children with special needs might be a challenge for some parents.

Clay chooses avoidance. He picks his battles. He knows those which he has no chance of coming out with his head held high. His parents try to explain to him that a task is a task. You cannot push it aside by avoiding it. You cannot make it go away by not starting and finishing it.

Clay has a peculiar method of studying. He plays game while studying. His dad even says he studies while playing game. And one day Clay made a request to his parents. For them to knock on the door before entering his study area. For them to give him warning that they are approaching him. It is a simple plea, yet it shows his way to cope with losing battles. He has come up with a brilliant strategy.

Clay is an expressive worshipper. He enjoys singing songs by moving his body parts. Unfortunately, Dad serves in a conservative church. Clay’s way of worship is deemed inappropriate. How could you dictate others how to worship Jesus?

At the end of sharing session, I asked Clay’s dad whether he has a stronger faith in Jesus than we do. Then Dad stopped talking. I saw the tears started rolling down Dad’s cheeks. I heard his voice breaking.

Clay says short prayers. He talks to God in simpler vocabularies. Probably that’s all that he has got. Yet any parents who hear those prayers would feel that a dagger cuts through your heart. Because in his prayers, Clay shows that he fully understands that he is different. That he is limited. That he is unlike other children.

Dad made a plea to my students. That when they become teachers, wherever they are, they pay more attention to children like Clay. For them to encourage students instead of repeating harsh words. For them to introduce Jesus to them.

I never regret being a special education teacher. In my students, I learn my own limitations. Through their eyes, I see the wonders of God’s creations. With them, I grow in faith.

 

This one is for Clay. And other individuals out there who have heard enough of discouraging words. Please know that Jesus loves you. Unconditionally. Just the way you are.

 

Surabaya, 19 August, 2020