At first glance, they couldn’t be more dissimilar. Austin- tall, robust, white-skinned, living in a small North Carolina city, surrounded by a supportive extended family; attending a free public high school; looking forward to getting his driver’s license and being able to drive the family car. Emmanuel- short, slight, brown-skinned, living in a village outside of Kigali, Rwanda; orphaned and living with an older sister, her husband, and young son; attending a secondary school whose fees would be out-of-reach without assistance from friends in America.
But look again. For these two wonderful young men share something vitally important, something deep and basic: the love of learning, the value they place on higher education. Austin, in eighth grade, already taking the SATs and placing in the 95th percentile; Emmanuel, in the Rwandan equivalent of eighth grade, taking national exams and placing in the 95th percentile, enabling him to qualify for a secondary education…both of them displaying an extraordinary intellect and the desire to learn.
I met Austin in the small congregation I am now pastoring just outside of Lexington, NC on one of my first Sundays there following my African trip. As part of my sermon, I showed the photo of Emmanuel and talked about his great desire to receive an education, sharing the fact of school fees and the reality of the difficulty for families like his to come up with the monies to keep children- even incredibly gifted and intelligent children like Emmanuel- in school beyond the primary grades. And I shared with the congregation my determination to help in whatever way I could to enable this deserving young man to get the education he so desired. I could not help every child, I told them, but I could help one.
The next Sunday, following the worship service, Austin came up to me in the office. “Pastor Linda, here is something to help with Emmanuel’s education.” And he shyly handed me a one-hundred-dollar bill. Tears filled my eyes as I thanked him profusely for this gift, telling him how much that would mean, how significantly it would assist with the next semester’s fees. A smile spread over his face. “I know how important school is to me. I just couldn’t imagine not being able to go,” and, accepting my hug of gratitude, he slipped out the door.
It was only later that I learned from his grandmother, also a member of the congregation, that this money, which I had assumed was from his family, was actually Austin’s own, saved from gifts given to him, from his allowance, from doing various chores. And now, Instead of spending it on all of those many things teen-agers enjoy buying and having and using, Austin had- in response to the story of the need of a young boy like himself- given all he had at that moment to help…to contribute in some small way (or not so small, actually) to enable that boy in a far-away place, that boy he would probably never meet, to stay in school for another semester. So is the power of story…
I met Emmanuel on my 2010 trip to Rwanda with The Nyanya Project, while visiting with our grandmothers outside Kigali. He introduced himself to me and I was immediately captivated by his smile, his personality, and his obvious intelligence. He shared with me his love of music, languages, and his great desire and determination to go to university, to get an education in physical therapy so he can work with those in his country who are physically handicapped (and they are many, due in large part to the 1994 genocide). And in our admittedly short contact and conversation, I determined to help this young man in whatever way I could and to enlist the assistance of others in my circle of friends and family.
I met Austin in the small congregation I am now pastoring just outside of Lexington, NC on one of my first Sundays there following my African trip. As part of my sermon, I showed the photo of Emmanuel and talked about his great desire to receive an education, sharing the fact of school fees and the reality of the difficulty for families like his to come up with the monies to keep children- even incredibly gifted and intelligent children like Emmanuel- in school beyond the primary grades. And I shared with the congregation my determination to help in whatever way I could to enable this deserving young man to get the education he so desired. I could not help every child, I told them, but I could help one.
The next Sunday, following the worship service, Austin came up to me in the office. “Pastor Linda, here is something to help with Emmanuel’s education.” And he shyly handed me a one-hundred-dollar bill. Tears filled my eyes as I thanked him profusely for this gift, telling him how much that would mean, how significantly it would assist with the next semester’s fees. A smile spread over his face. “I know how important school is to me. I just couldn’t imagine not being able to go,” and, accepting my hug of gratitude, he slipped out the door.
It was only later that I learned from his grandmother, also a member of the congregation, that this money, which I had assumed was from his family, was actually Austin’s own, saved from gifts given to him, from his allowance, from doing various chores. And now, Instead of spending it on all of those many things teen-agers enjoy buying and having and using, Austin had- in response to the story of the need of a young boy like himself- given all he had at that moment to help…to contribute in some small way (or not so small, actually) to enable that boy in a far-away place, that boy he would probably never meet, to stay in school for another semester. So is the power of story…
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