Miss Love's Chinese Babies

I had a blog topic brewing in my head all last week, but now I can't seem to make myself write about it. Hm.
Instead, I really want to talk about my students. 

My kiddos. 

My Chinese babies. 

Those little-bitty, black-haired, almond-eyed, round-faced bundles of energy have been privy to my attention twice a week for a full six weeks now. It feels like it's been much longer. 

I lifted them up to the Father from the moment I knew I was accepted into this program, before I even knew if I had an elementary placement. I asked Him to prepare my heart for them and for their hearts to be prepared for me. This is what I still ask for every day. These little ones who are in my life for the next eight months are precious and important to me. 

I'm amazed that He's already worked as much as He has. I can remember almost half of their English names and when I see a child in the hallway, I can often identify whether or not they are one of my students before they even greet me. Did I mention that there are over 285 of them altogether and that I only have each class for two 35-minute periods a week? It's a gift for me to be able to know them as well as I do already. 

Each time I enter a classroom, students flock around the podium to watch me put out materials and chitter at me in Chinese and random English phrases. They want to touch me, hug me, gain my smiles, attention, and affirmation. While I know that part of this comes with me being the fascinating foreigner who lets them play games in class, I know that part of it also comes from the knowledge that I love them. 

Sometimes they are crazy in class. Sometimes the big boys in the back mock the way I phrase things, sometimes they deliberately do things to distract others while I'm teaching, sometimes they talk when I'm talking just because they know I don't like it, sometimes they even make me angry...but I would probably do the same thing if I was in second grade, took classes for 12 hours a day, lived away from home, and had to listen to a foreign language for half an hour with a teacher who couldn't punish me the way my regular teachers did. 

At the end of the day, I still love them to pieces.

And they know it.

Some never speak in class, some won't stop talking, some sit up straight and proud every time I walk by, some roll their eyes when I pass them, some are instigators, some fall out of their seats, some try their very best, some don't try at all, but each has something that makes them special and unique. By the end of the year, I won't know each of them individually, but I will have loved all of them. And through me, they will each have a brush with the Father's love. 

My hope is that one day when they're older, some of them will have the opportunity to respond to His love so that I can see the faces of at least a few of my Chinese babies when I finally go Home for good.