Firestarters

The sound of silence filled up the room; beautiful, golden silence. It wasn't true hear-a-pin-drop silence. It was more of 12 little students, all at once, and all together, sitting in their wooden desks working, actually working–a teacher’s dream.

Pencil. Mark. Sniffle. Rustle. Scooch. Cough. Whisper. Drop. Yawn. Giggle. It was a symphony. After weeks of yelling, bickering, fighting, crying, talking, laughing, this musical of my classroom was a delight. As it played, the bright yellow sun danced across the walls, it's warmth calm and cozy. Mixed with the music of my worker bees, it was enough to lull me into a peaceful rhythm as I marked up workbooks. Check, check, X, check, X…

Looking up from my own work, I gazed about smiling. Little round heads the color of ebony were bent over their desks practicing the down and around of the Big D. My classroom looked like most Pre- K rooms. There, on one wall, our behavior colors chart with all the colors still on green, for now. In the back, a display of artwork; shelves with books and coloring crayons; shapes hanging under the window; a big paper tree with paper bananas, everyone’s name printed neatly on each one. There were toys for recess; games for inside; a large chalkboard with the letter of the week, the line leader, the door holder, and the date.

Yes, I smiled with satisfaction. I had worked hard to make this place inviting; to make it a place where children would want to learn. It was like most rooms. Except it was in the middle of the Africa Bush. Except right outside were men "mowing" the grass with machetes. Except just a few hundred yards away was a river called the Nile, teeming with hippos and crocs. Except for the red African dirt covering, well, everything. Except, here, most classrooms were dirty and old; no lively art on the walls; no games, books, or colors on the shelves waiting for little hands.

Yes, to me it was like most rooms; to me it was right, good, and perfect. To those sitting out before me in their wooden desks, making a melody of silence, it was a wonderland-a wonderland full of whimsy and dreams, full of life and potential. Something they had never known. Something they never dreamed of knowing. Something not even thought up by their wildest imaginings. Even to the older children, this room was a door to new things.

This room was a door to a future bright and sure, a promise of what was to come. Each one had been lifted up and out of pits. Out of darkness and hopelessness. Out of lives that would be full of endless work to make enough to eat each day. This room was their promise that out of the pit and onto the Rock they had been placed, a Rock, which would lead to endless futures, possibilities, and endings. A Rock, which would never crumble, but would lift them up. Lift them up so they might reach back down for others.

Here in this room, in this noisy silence, it was just like most places; except Heaven was being brought to Earth and futures were being made; except stories were being rewritten and a group of orphans were about to set Fire to the world.