Experience

Sarah McClaskey

Rwanda 2023

Though an injury had kept me from playing on Concordia’s water polo team, I found myself in rural Rwanda with a volleyball in hand, running around a muddy courtyard with a crowd of special needs kids — having the time of my life. Only God could have gotten me there.

Participating in the Around-the-World program had never been my ambition, though I had known of the program since I was in first grade. My friend’s dad, Dr. Norton, would take his family on exciting trips every other fall, and when my friend got back she answered all our questions about where she’d been and what she’d done. Little did

I suspect that one day I would go on this same journey — and have a life- changing experience.

Fast forward to my freshman year of college at Concordia, where I sustained an injury in the first water polo practice of the season, which meant huge disappointment, surgery, and missing most of the season. When Dr. Norton found out, he suggested, “How about you take off the whole semester and travel around the world with us?” The idea struck me and my parents as being from the Lord, though the trip was mere months away. Very unexpectedly,

I was suddenly on a plane with fellow students, traveling and learning from August to December 2023.

Our first stretch was spent in Cambodia and Thailand, but the trip deepened significantly for me when we got to Rwanda. For some reason, my mom had always told me, “Sarah, you would love Africa. You would be so good working with kids with special needs.” As it turned out, that’s exactly what I and others on our team did in a northern city called Musanze.

We were assigned to a home for children with special needs, run by a young woman named Quinn who spoke French but not English — which meant I was suddenly thrown into translation work because of my French language training in high school. The house offered much-needed care for kids with autism, Downs syndrome, stunted growth, encephalitis, and other life- defining maladies or conditions. In that safe and loving environment, they were educated and taught about the Lord while their parents were at work.

The liveliest times for me were in the dirt courtyard out back where the kids invited us to play volleyball with them. Sports is a universal language, and big smiles and high-fives were enough to bond us as we competed and played. I felt surrounded by love. Someone was always holding my hand or hugging me. Sometimes we ended up covered in mud because of the rain, which didn’t keep us from continuing the games. Every day I thought to myself, “This is the most amazing time of my life.” I was usually the last one to leave the courtyard.

We met Antoine, who had survived the 1994 genocide but whose mother and siblings had not. He and Quinn radiated the joy of the Lord. They also relied on the Lord daily as their source and provider. Some days they didn’t get any sleep or didn’t have access to a car. With so many apparent reasons to complain, they never did. The Lord gave them strength and energized them each day. They were so expectant and excited about what he would do next that it began to change my heart. In serving with them, I realized I had a much greater capacity for joy than I had ever known.

Leaving Rwanda was hard, and I shed many tears and hugged my hosts like the dear friends I knew they had become. In reflecting on my time there, I was blown away by the Lord’s goodness. How did I not see this coming? I wondered. How did I not anticipate that I would feel so connected to the people in Rwanda? It had to be the Lord and his wonderful sense of surprise.

Our Concordia group spent many meaningful days in Europe where I visited long-distance relatives in Rome, but Rwanda never left my heart. Back in Irvine, we took a class in global cultural studies and read a book called After the Trip: Unpacking Your Experience to answer questions like, “What did we learn about God and discipleship?” My answer was clear: I learned what it looks like to fully rely on the Lord in greater measure than ever before.

The Around-the-World trip taught me to posture my heart toward the Lord in a way that says, “You alone are my joy and my source. I want to rely on you each day.” I have new confidence that the Lord is going to complete all the good works he has begun in me — and I have new patience that God will make it all happen in ways I can’t yet see, just like he did in Rwanda.

Sarah McClaskey is a second-year history major at Concordia, from Ladera Ranch.

by Jessica Schrank

South Africa 2014

Dr. Becky Peter's voice was resounding through my mind as I aimed to control and instruct a group of 25 rowdy first graders with their own agendas. In class last semester, my education professor repeatedly emphasized that the most vital phrase within a lesson plan is "the student will be able to." These words communicate a clear objective that reveals a goal to keep both the students and the teacher on task. Through my teaching experience in South Africa, I realized how much I had to alter my American perspective of teaching. My outlook was transformed through the different teaching methods practiced, conversations with Teacher Rhonia, and my ability to understand the classroom holistically. My view of teaching would no longer only be understood behind classroom walls, but in a way that crosses borders, boundaries, and cultures.

Within moments of walking onto St. Peter Christian College's campus I was dubbed, “Teacher Jessica.” This is a title I would soon respond to and a name that I would cherish forever. Originally, I believed this title was a result of four and a half years of schooling, mastering teaching strategies, and stressful CBEST and CSET tests. However, I quickly realized that this new role of responsibility was not going to need much preparation or practice, but would require me to just simply begin. I was ready for this. I had taken EDU 101 and passed. I had mastered different clapping strategies that could control classrooms. I had been through school before, so clearly I was equipped.

As I walked into Teacher Rhonia's classroom, the walls were adorned with posters that helped students learn how to count to 100, memorize their alphabet, identify certain colors, and locate various shapes. By only glancing around the room, I could already see the personalities that shaped the classroom and different ways that the class functioned. The room was decorated and organized in a fashion that was extremely similar to many typical American classrooms back in Southern California. I looked around the room and saw beaming smiles and curious faces that would soon become names and stories. Right when Ryan Fink and I arrived the class was getting ready to work in stations throughout the room that focused on practicing both reading and writing. Ryan is also studying to be a teacher and so we both walked into this activity with confidence. With a desire to be accepted and get to know the students I found a group and started to work with them. Questions started pouring out of their mouths, "Where are you from?" and "What is your name?" All of these were easy to answer until I was asked, "How long are you going to be here?" This question was challenging to answer because I started to realize that these students were very used to teachers from America coming and leaving.

Once I was struck with this question I felt like just another new face from a church in a random faraway place. Classroom walls were filled with English motivational posters and alphabet signs that were donated from an American school. Also, there were pictures and traces of many other groups that had come and worked with the children. For these students, I was simply another form of authority that would come in and attempt to teach some lessons and introduce new songs and games. I was afraid that I was not going to be my own person, but merely be placed into a mold that had been formed by all the previous teachers and volunteers. Through all the questioning and hesitancy to allow me into their classroom, I could sense that the students were fearful of attachment because they already knew I would not be here forever. However, thankfully all my negative thoughts and doubts were quickly knocked out of me by the swarm of warm hugs that I received the next morning.

Objective 1: The students will be able to see beyond their image of me as just another American teacher.

Within the days of class that ensued after our arrival I was given multiple opportunities to teach lessons and instruct various subjects. When I had first arrived, the kids all beautifully sang the "School is Awesome" song. "School is awesome, play and learn, reading, writing, singing, caring, sharing, friends, School is cool!" In my mind, I was thinking how simple it will be to teach this class because they have almost been brainwashed by this melody. In all the classrooms I had observed or been in back home, I had never had a class give an ode to school before their lessons. My cheerful perspective drastically changed when I was placed up in front of the classroom with 25 pairs of eyes staring at me. As I started to explain the math lesson for the day they all perked up to see what this foreigner was rambling about. However, at the end of their brief attention span of five minutes I had lost most of them. Within moments of asking the students to open up their math workbooks there were a few running around the room, many of them repeatedly asking to go to the bathroom, and a couple of them kicking each other under the tables. With a lot of patience and some intervention from Teacher Rhonia, we struggled through the math lesson together.

Objective 2: The students will be able to think of new ways to re-write the "School is Awesome" song to reflect their actual feelings.

No matter what I would be saying or doing in front of the classroom, the students never seemed to pay attention to the subject I was trying to teach. I was aiming to instruct them the only way I knew how, providing directions and then checking their work. After this failed multiple times, I asked the teacher to intervene and I sat down and tried to analyze what I was doing wrong. In the back of the classroom, I sat wishing that I could switch student's clothespins from green to red or wanting them each to have their own workbook and pencil. Through these frustrations I was able to realize that I was only allowing myself to teach the way that I knew how. I was trying my best to reorganize the classroom with my American education mindset and placing expectations on this classroom and these students that were unrealistic. My teaching strategies and goals were not adapting to meet these South African first graders at their learning level.

Tumisho and Keamegostwe, both six years old, probably know as many languages as years they have been alive. Through talking and interacting with them, I realized that even though the students know English there are still words and concepts that have to pass through various language barriers. South Africa has 11 official languages, and that does not take into account all of the different dialects and words that are formed in different regions or towns. At St. Peter they have signs up that say "We Speak English," but they also provide Afrikaans classes, the children bicker with one another in Zulu, and many of the teachers also come from countries other than South Africa. Therefore, it is clear that communication has to go through a lot more levels than I had been trained for. During the next lessons I taught I slowed down my pace, tried my best to address the trivial issues the students were facing, and tried to retrain my mind to believe that productivity was not merely completing a page in a workbook. The communication I had with the students was transformed into something that moves past English, Zulu, or any of the other nine languages. I came to recognize the power of encouragement. During my lessons, I aimed to have a simple high-five or a thumbs up be a way to motivate the students. Even though there were still challenges in getting them to understand, I felt like they responded positively to the incentive of affirmation that was provided. The students were finally starting to get accustomed to my teaching style. Now, I am not saying that my high-fives and kind gestures transformed the class completely, but it definitely captured some of the students’ minds and got them to work.

Objective 3: The student will be able to expect a high five when they have shown me that they have completed the workbook page and understand the material.

Teacher Rhonia, sincere and passionate, has had a huge heart for St. Peter since her initial investment when the school started back in 2011. While the students were in music class and in the midst of piling up stacks of graded papers, I was able to ask her about the teaching program that she went through in South Africa. She explained the two-year process that includes courses that provide instruction and also classroom observation. Overall, she helped me see how different the preparation was for being a teacher and how much this school district emphasizes actual experience over classes and courses.

Although our experience in learning how to fulfill the role of a teacher differed, we found a common joy in the rewards that come from getting this chance to be such an influential part of children's lives. Teacher Rhonia showered her class with love with the simple terms of endearment like "baby and honey." She also held the students up to a high standard allowing them to reflect on the mistakes they would make and helping them grow from it. She was the mother hen in her classroom and all of the students could see how much she cared for them. At the end of most school days after all the kids had left, we would look at one another and she would say to me, "I'm tired." Almost subtly acknowledging that if you were not exhausted at the end of the day, you were doing something wrong.

Objective 4: The student will be able to see how much effort Teacher Rhonia puts into her classroom through the love and compassion she has for her students.

At the beginning of my time in this first grade classroom, I was convinced that I could be a teacher. I was under the impression that I could come into a place and unload all my knowledge of American education on the classroom and make a dramatic impact. It did not take long for me to realize though that I was not doing the teaching, but I was instead doing the learning. Although classrooms may look very similar and the students may technically be in the same age range, there are so many other factors that contribute to a classroom. Before Ryan and I left St. Peter all the students all had some parting words to share. During that time there were a couple murmured thank you’s and God bless you's. However, one of the students Mpolio raised his voice amongst all the whispers and stated, "Know that we love you so and do not forget us."

After hearing these sweet words I realized that Dr. Peters would not be too pleased with my objectives for the time I spent in South Africa. They were not typical goals that one can obtain in a class period or that can be assessed. They were not necessarily measurable, obtainable, or practical in print. They were based in my ability to adapt to the way I believed teaching had to be and allowing the teacher and the students to redirect my ideas and actions. Through my experience in the classroom I observed that teaching is not universal, there are different methods and strategies. After a lot of reflection, I determined that it was my ability to learn that ultimately crossed cultural bounds and through this my perspective on the mind of a teacher changed. It is vital to be able to instruct and explain, but it is equally as important to observe and absorb knowledge as you teach.

Objective 5: The teacher will be able to become just as much of a learner as the students themselves.

by Ryan Fink

Brazil 2014

As I looked at Rio de Janeiro, I saw the future. Somehow, through viewing this humongous Brazilian city, my mind filled with thoughts about what would come next for me as a new traveler. My travel companions and I had made our way to the top of Forte de Duque Caxias, an old Portuguese fort on one end of Copacabana Beach. From this fort of the past, I viewed the present sight in front of me and even caught a glimpse of the future—of what would come for me over the next four-and-a-half months.

The sight from the Forte, from my point of view, held different points of beauty that weaved together to form this Rio landscape. The points were found in the different mini-landscapes, from left to right. The first was the green Atlantic Ocean. The waves came in steadily at about eight feet, over a group of swimmers and surfers. They broke mostly towards the beach, save for the waves near the cliff where we stood, which took swimmers and surfers close to the rocks. In the deep part of the ocean, there sat a few small islands which caused me to wonder and imagine what existed there.

Only an hour earlier, my travel companions for the day found themselves in the light-green Atlantic. After walking a portion of the beach, we made our way to the rocks at the end, walking up the slightly inclined ramp that took us over the rocks. We turned right, and walked a short way down so that we were standing over the ocean. Our view was straight up the beach, with the water on our left, and the sand on our right. As we stood looking, a young Brazilian man, roughly our age, wearing no shirt and black board shorts, walked up next to us. He promptly looked both ways, found a rock to stand on, and took a full, head-first dive into the ocean. Our unexpected participation as spectators of some amateur thrill-seeker left us speechless—perhaps an a small introduction to culture shock that would return at various parts of the journey.

After a short period of stunned silence, my friend Ryan Buuck said, “Ok, that has to be a sign from God, right?” He then removed his shirt, and copied the actions of the Brazilian diver. Ryan was followed by his brother Jordan (GoPro in hand), and then Hayden Killeen and Zach de Vos. All four of them jumped from the same rock, hung in the air for a few seconds, and splashed into the green water. Ironically, the only member of the group (yours truly) from a beachside city was too frightened to jump. As they swam back to the beach, I laughed to myself, wondering how it could only be the first day of our adventure. Already we had found ourselves viewing beautiful sights of God’s creation, and quite literally diving headfirst into this journey. As they walked back up the ramp toward the rocks, I thought ahead, imagining what other events with this level of excitement would occur on this trip.

The second portion of the view from the top of the Forte was the Copacabana Beach. This famous beach, packed with humanity, was covered in a tannish-yellow sand that made shoes squeak when you walked on it, and left clothing more dusty than sandy. It seemed that half of the city made its way to the beach that day, and they entertained themselves in a variety of ways, from swimming to soccer, foot-volley to sleeping. The Brazilian culture was well-represented on the beach that day. Samba music blared over speakers as youths of all ages danced along. People of dark skin as well as light engaged in the various sports together. Everyone of both genders seemed to be showing the same amount of skin, wearing tiny bathing suits not usually found on the beaches of Orange County.

I briefly experienced these parts of Brazilian culture, both up close and at a distance. I walked in and among the locals clad in tiny bathing suits and smelled the coconut drinks sold on the promenade. I also stood at the top of the Forte, as far away from the people as the distance between our two cultures. This presented an interesting dichotomy of living as a part of the culture, and still existing very much outside of it. Such was the time of our team in Brazil. We lived with Brazilians, ate with them, and learned about them, yet we could never be Brazilian. As I thought this from my viewpoint, I imagined the same for the other countries we would visit on this trip.

Next to the yellowish-tan beach, with a perfect view of the green water, sat the city skyline of Rio. Tall, sky-scraping buildings lined up with the promenade almost geometrically. The beachfront apartments and homes, sold to their owners for exorbitant amounts of money, looked out over the always-inviting Copacabana Beach. The entire city spread out expansively over the valley between the ocean and the green mountains. Within the city walked millions of people, both local and tourist, traipsing down busy streets, going to either work or play.

Contrasting with this beautiful, landmark beach, and the expensive property, was what sat to the right of the city. As Rio started to creep into the green hills before it reached the fog settling in the valleys, the types of buildings and housing deteriorated. All over the outskirts of this enormous city sat the favelas, Rio’s version of slums. They were built practically on an incline, not exactly the same kind of prime real estate where sat the beachfront apartments. Smoke rose from the favelas as we overlooked the city, with a view of both these expensive beach houses and the dangerous slums.

This juxtaposition of rich and poor, from my point of view, revealed the social injustice that exists in Rio. Though FIFA tried their best in preparation for the World Cup that same year, it couldn’t be covered up. My friends and I, that same day, accidentally ventured a little too far towards the hills and into a part of the city that looked noticeably different than the Copacabana Beach. This new understanding of Rio sparked a feeling of empathy towards those treated unjustly. It also caused a glimpse into another part of the future of the trip: the service projects we would engage in.

After viewing the green ocean and the human-dotted beach, and after seeing the sparkling skyline and run-down, ramshackle favelas, came a sight of an old friend. Cristo Redentor stood off in the distance, whiter than the clouds above it, arms outstretched over the city. The classic, picturesque image of Rio, the same one that filled a poster back at home, stood in the distance. The statue was partly clouded by some combination of fog and smog-an indication of spiritual struggle and strife sure to come-yet was somehow more distinct than the parts of the landscape that I could view quite clearly.

The statue of Jesus standing on that hill offered much encouragement to me. It was a reminder that the actual Christ stands over this city all the time. He is well aware of the injustices and suffering that goes on, and still his arms are outstretched in an embrace of Rio and everyone in it, to comfort and to protect. Despite the marked contrast between Copacabana and the favelas that caused my own empathy and questions, I remembered that His plan is perfect, for the city of Rio and for everyone who lives there. It was a reminder that Jesus fits the role of the statue’s name: Redentor, the Redeemer.

As I took in this panoramic mental picture of Rio de Janeiro, I underwent a series of emotions. The city had a way of washing over me, and putting me in a sublime state, something like drunkenness without the alcohol. Perhaps the tropical, paradise-like atmosphere put this feeling on me. I felt a joy for being there in that moment, as well as giddy excitement for the beginning of our journey. I was encouraged by the sight of Cristo on the hill, a reminder for me as much as for the city. The subtle difference between seeing and experiencing a place is the distinct joy of travel. This short jaunt through Rio de Janeiro would be best described as an experience—one that united my physical presence in the city with my imagination projecting me forward through the trip.