Standing at the whiteboard in front of a classroom of 35 rowdy seventh graders has never been something I'd imagined I'd find desirable.   For a few years before going to college and in the years since I've been there, when an older adult would offer the suggestion that perhaps I'd make a good teacher, my reply was always a prompt and enthusiastic “No, thanks!”

But one afternoon, during the hottest part of the day in one of the hottest months, that's what I found myself doing in a small classroom in Santa Marta, Colombia.

I read loudly the words I scribbled on the board.  “How do you say…?”, “How do you spell…?”, “What does this word mean?”  After having taught English in this class for two weeks I was a little frustrated that we, as a class, had still not mastered these simple phrases.

I commanded the students to repeat.  Over and over and over we repeated until finally, I looked out across the faces to one of a little boy whose home I'd visited the night before.   This kid could speak hardly a word of English and as I watched his lips, eyes watching mine, struggling to do as he was told and make the foreign sounds come out, I was reminded I was not in Colombia because I thought he needed to learn English from me.

I was in Colombia because this boy's father is cheating on his mother and he desperately needs to know the love of his heavenly Father today much more than he needs to be able to pronounce this now seemingly ridiculous phrase.  Suddenly, I felt more compelled to repeat the Spanish words, “Cristo te ama” (Jesus loves you) over and over in English class that day.

In my next class, it was still hot, fans were still not functioning, and I was in fact more tired, but my attitude had been renewed.  That day I found out one of our students was Mormon.  With her head bowed sheepishly she said Christians here don't like Mormons.  I explained to her then that Christ – the only begotten son of the one true God – loves her and all his children and that it was Christ in my heart that directed me to be there with her in Colombia and show love to his people there.

The day ended and I felt a renewed calling to share with the students at the Colegio Cristiano La Esperanza.  Some needed to learn English, some didn't.  Some wanted to, some didn't.  But each child there is in need of a relationship with the Father – their creator – just as we all are, and I have that message to share.  I am not a teacher, and I probably will never make a career of teaching – God has not called me to it.  I am a Christian, however, and God has commissioned me to go forth into all nations and teach them the gospel, being all things to all people in order that they might come to know the good news.

North American teachers, therefore, have a role to play in La Esperanza School, whether or not they feel called to be schoolteachers.  God waits to enter into the hearts of his people there, and the harvest is ripe.

submitted by Sharon Capehart