27/08/2025
๐๐ฅ๐๐ฌ๐ฌ๐ซ๐จ๐จ๐ฆ ๐๐ข๐ญ๐ก๐จ๐ฎ๐ญ ๐๐๐ฅ๐ฅ๐ฌ
by: Mariel Ganlal
โMy grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.โ โ 2 Corinthians 12:9
There are places where children's smiles hide a deep hungerโnot just for food, but for guidance, love, and education.
These places call for missionaries who are not only willing but fully committed to their callingโthose who will leave behind their comfort zones, their families, their routinesโฆ and offer their lives to serve. Not everyone is able to carry such a mission.
But when you step into that place and see the joy in their eyes, hear the laughter in their voices, and witness their quiet determinationโyou can't help but whisper,
โThank You, Lord, for bringing me here.โ
On June 16, we arrived at the Mission School where we had previously served. This was our second term, and we had personally requested to return. We felt that our time there had not yet fulfilled its purpose. There was unfinished workโespecially in the building of the school. Although the structure was completed, the walls were still missing. There was more to be done, and our hearts were willing.
After several days, we began our classes with the children. The first day wasn't too hot, so the classroom felt bearable. But as days passed, the heat grew stronger and more intense. We could feel it pressing into the unfinished walls, making the inside of the classroom uncomfortable. And yetโthe children never complained.
Their resilience amazed me.
But I noticed itโhow the heat started affecting their focus and their ability to listen and engage. The sun's harsh rays poured directly into the room, and it pained me to see the children struggling to concentrate. I lifted it up in prayer, asking God to help me find a way to ease their burden.
And He answered.
God gave me an ideaโsimple yet profoundโon how to shield them from the heat and make learning more bearable. It was one of those quiet whispers from Him that reminded me: He sees every need, every discomfort, and every child we care for. He doesn't overlook even the smallest struggles when theyโre lifted up in faith.
Only I know how deeply these experiences have shaped me. Only I remember the exact feeling of walking into the classroom each day, wondering how to make it better. And only I carry the personal memoriesโthe private prayers, the silent frustrations, and the quiet victoriesโthat turned into testimonies over time.
There were many times when our classes took place on the stageโopen to the sun, wind, and rain. And when the stage was wet, we moved to our kitchen. There were no fixed classrooms, no air-conditioned rooms, and no blackboards on wallsโbut still, never once did I see hesitation in my studentsโ eyes. Wherever I led them, they followedโready to learn, eager to grow, and determined to dream.
Their willingness to learn despite the discomfort moved me deeply.
Every time I saw them hunched over their papers, scribbling answers to quizzes, focused despite the heat or noise, my heart melted. Iโd whisper prayers in silence:
โLord, help me know what to teach. Give me strength and patience. Show me how to serve these little ones.โ
And God answeredโfaithfully, day by day.
I always told my students,
โFind your comfortable spot where you can focus.โ
whether we were learning on the stage or in the kitchen. And not once did they complain about the heat, the limited space, or the lack of walls. Their hearts were set on learning, and they never let circumstances stop them.
There were days when we simply waited for the sun to soften before resuming class inside our unfinished classroom. But even then, some would say, โMaโam, okay lang po kahit mainit. Basta makapag-aral kami.โ And Iโd feel my heart break at their resolve.
Iโd worry.
โBaka magkasakit kayo,โ
but theyโd answer,
โOkay lang po, maโam. Basta makapag-aral.โ
I see their sacrificesโtheir quiet perseverance, their deep desire to change their future through learningโ
and one of my sincerest prayers is that these children will one day graduate.
That ten years from now, some of the young ones we taught in this humble sitio will walk across a stage, not to attend a classโbut to receive their diplomas.
And I will stand somewhere in the background, whispering thanks to God for the seeds He let me sow.
These children have taught me far more than I could ever teach them.
Theyโve shown me how to appreciate what I have, to endure without complaining, and to value even the smallest blessings.
Through their resilience, Iโve learned to be grateful, to be present, to count every moment as a giftโand to never let go of dreams, no matter how humble they seem.
Because sometimes, the greatest classrooms have no walls.
And sometimes, the greatest lessons are written not in textbooks, but in the quiet courage of children who choose learning over comfort. Their resilience becomes the blackboard, their hope the chalk. Each moment of sacrifice etches wisdom deeper than any printed page.
Under the open sky or inside humble kitchens, the desire to learn speaks louder than any classroom bell. And in the absence of structure, something greater is builtโcharacter, compassion, and the kind of knowledge that cannot be erased. These children, with dusty notebooks and sun-kissed brows, carry the light of possibilities.
And in their determination, God writes a lesson not just for themโbut for all of us.
