Shooting the Breeze

A tribute to today's experience with a dear student, 7th grade, whose parents are missionaries in Afghanistan.
And to my ongoing lessons in true time and life.


"I'm here to visit!" she announces.
The door pulled shut
Against the wind
She heaves her binder to an empty table.
3:06, the bell just rung
The echoing of running feet
Quickly fades
Korean eyes and chapped lips
Peer patiently
"I called my dorm dad" - inviting
Herself further in.
Homework can wait
So can her peers
The moment
Is present
Enough
For the topic at hand
Afghanistan
And the mud huts of mothers
And doctors and brothers
A scrap paper sketch
With boxes for doors
And boxes for trees
Her hands play around
In her pocket is found
A keychain - a tag stitched with love
She learns a new knot for her needle and thread
While stumbling over 'pediatrician'
"I love babies and I want to help people."
Her small round face stays unchanged
But her tongue waggles on
It's good that her heart is so big
Pieces are scattered -
There is so much she loves
She's so small yet so full
"Ah, Miss Gangel, you didn't give homework, right?"
A bounce in the chair
A swing of the legs
And back to the project and topic at hand
The rest has been lost
Hot air doesn't last
But what mattered the most
Was the moment
The present
of Time
In a room full of books and eraser crumbs
And girls with red thread and a need for someone.