Things I Don't Want to Forget

With the school year wrapping up in warp speed, I haven't taken the time to write. And there have been quite a few moments, like snapshots, that I don't want to forget...

Three Indonesian boys huddle under a broken payphone in a rainstorm. The boys are barefoot. The smallest one wears spiderman pajama pants. Rain drips down their noses and chins.

I find Madi in her favorite teacher's classroom at lunch. She sits on the giant floor pillows surrounded by friends. They are laughing and chatting and playing games on their laptops. And I think...wow, one year has made such a difference.

I see my classroom for the first time. It is on the second floor. Big mural windows on the far wall open to a beautiful view of trees. I imagine lessons, discussions, wall-decorations, and I am thrilled.

I drive by a garbage picker in a rainstorm. She has three young children with her. One is just a baby that she carries in a sling, the other two children are just toddlers. She drapes a tarp over her garbage cart to form a make-shift shelter from the rain. They are filthy, and their eyes are sad. And I think my heart will break. I am on my way to buy pearls with some friends. Yes, pearls. The dichotomy rocks me to my core. And I cannot reconcile these two worlds that are really just one. 


Tman shows me his slideshow on the computer at school. He looks almost shy with pride (if that makes sense) as he hears his recorded voice recite all the accomplishments of the year.

Meya asks me if I want to eat a cookie not once, not twice, but three times during her class workshare presentation. She is such a nurturer, wanting to make sure I am enjoying myself.


I watch my children play hide-and-go-seek, "beckon", and capture-the-flag until after dark with the neighborhood kids. Hearing squeals of laughter as they duck under bushes, run through the grass, and charge down the road. Tman and Meya's cheeks are flushed when they come inside for a quick drink of water. It is almost a throw-back to a previous generation when people lingered on porches, neighbors chatted, and children played. And for a moment, the craziness of the world halts and I count my blessings.  

Leasie makes the difficult choice to join her class to go to the Indonesian school. She is completely out of her comfort zone, and her best friends have opted to stay home. I love seeing the confidence in her stride as she comes off the bus and announces that she was glad she went.

The heart-stopping phone call that CJ has hurt her leg while jumping on a trampoline with friends. Suddenly everything blurs except for getting help. Riding with my husband in the car to the SOS (International hospital here in Jakarta), praying for a good doctor and quality care. I am humbled as suddenly all priorities realign with absolute clarity. My children.

Watching my husband comfort CJ in the hospital. Her blond hair is a messy tangle (with remnants of gum) over his shoulder as he gently rocks her.

The flurry of kisses and hugs as we return and are greeted by four worried, loving siblings.