In Burkinabe schools, you never know what to expect. When I arrive to teach a weekly Bible class, it is not uncommon to discover the children locking each other out of the classroom and doing drum competitions on their desks because the teacher is away and the idea of substitutes has yet to catch on, while one classroom over the teacher is threatening to hit the kids with strips of tires because they’re too distracted by the noise to pay attention.
One day started out pandemonium-free, but during my first grade class, a strong gust of wind sent dust flying into the classroom accompanied by the noise of a large group of people yelling. The kids quickly shut the windows, which, being made of metal, meant we couldn’t see outside. The yelling grew closer; then things began to hit the tin roof with explosions of dust. I still thought this was a symptom of the strong wind, and was beginning to wonder about the probability of tornadoes in Africa, when all the children ran outside panicked. A group of high school students were throwing rocks at the school. They were striking and were going around to all the schools still in session, forcing them to strike as well by making it dangerous for the kids to be at school.
Another time, I got to visit a public school. I can’t teach the Bible weekly in public schools, but occasionally receive the opportunity to go one time to share the Gospel. A Christian teacher at this school told me that the students would later on learn the history of Mohammed and Islam at school but would never learn anything about Jesus. A fellow Good News Club teacher had arranged everything for the visit and invited me. But he failed to mention that it was a deaf school, where many of the children were also mute.
Fortunately someone was available to translate into sign language, but much of the interaction I’d planned to emphasize different points for the children, such as making noises of animals God had created or seeing who can hold out the word “foreeever” longest without taking a breath, was impossible. Because of this, I felt like the lesson was going horribly. This might be the only chance the kids would have to hear God’s word in school, and outside of school, there were few people who would know how to talk about salvation in sign language. And I felt like it was a disaster.
But as I began to talk about Jesus’ death, I heard a sound of combined gasping and crying out. It was coming from one of the girls, who seemed to have no idea she was making noise, but was too touched by Jesus’ sacrifice to remain silent. And then I realized, I may not have been prepared for this, but God was. And He had prepared this girl’s heart as well.
I guess trying to anticipate what God will do any given day is as impossible as predicting what will happen at Burkinabe school. But I suppose I really don’t want His love to stop surprising me.
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