i'll start here

I have to start with this: the good, the beautiful, the hopeful.
Essentially, I just took a class on oppression and exploitation; I took a class on the ways that the world has failed, that humans have failed, that life has proved itself ugly; I took a class that forces me to doubt the goodness of humanity, that purity of spirit still exists, that God is present.

I have been ripped open, knowing that this is what the Lord wants me to know. I need to respond: I am angry and heartbroken and confused about the broken state of our world; I am scared for future generations; I am distressed.

So let me start with this, because what is good, what is beautiful, what is right in the world seems to poke its head through even the darkest of circumstances.

We painted a mural. We, four white American college students, painted a mural with ten Jamaican special education students, ranging from shy students to severely autistic students to one student with downs syndrome.
They’re kept separate from their peers, isolated behind literal bars, grouped together despite age, grade level, condition. And they’re beautiful. I’ve never seen such beautiful children.


It took more energy than I ever thought possible. I never thought that I would be drawn to such a group of kids, but I found myself wanting to invest myself in those kids so much more than other parts of the trip—more than class, more than down at Fisherman’s Beach. I wanted to be a part of their existence. I wanted this mural project to be meaningful for them.

I’ve never seen freedom in such a pure form. I am rooted in the things of this world, thus, I have, to a certain extent, lost my playful spirit and sense of purity and freedom; they have not lost any of these things.

More than “normal” kids, these special ed kids seemed to be even further removed from the reality of this world, the chains and pain. In some ways, it makes me sad for them, knowing that my brain functioning has allowed me to experience so so many wonderful things; in some ways, I am jealous. If only that innocence could remain, if only we were still filled with wonder at the smallest things, if only we were unattached to meaningless things. They are lucky. They love, and show affection, and show emotion; they are kind, and gentle (most of the time) and focused. In their own ways, they are brilliant.

I am absolutely unqualified to work with special ed students. I was anxious about this job, facilitating this project. But, the first day, I sat between Shevaughn and Oneika, both of whom can’t speak. To try to get inside of their brains was the most interesting and challenging thing I’ve done. They were not afraid of physical touch to show that they needed help, or they were excited, or they wanted me to see what they had drawn. They were quiet, but they knew. There is some sort of disconnect between internal and external functioning, but they are inspired and they are exceptional.

Shevaughn would attempt to write or draw, but somehow, the only thing that came out was the letter “p,” over and over again.
Oneika drew random lines and swirls and attempts at circles—the result was rainbow scribbles. But watching her, interacting with her, seeing her color her reality was incredible, seeing her smile after she finished her drawing, looking for my appreciation of her creation—it was amazing.
Sasha, I think, is autistic. She spoke very little, with a surprisingly high pitched voice; she could draw little images, but she was very good at names. She wrote all of our names over and over again on her piece of paper.
Dante (who may or may not have become my favorite, if that were okay to say…), seemed more shy than anything, though he has a disease which seems to have crippled his right hand.
Aphek, who is wide-eyed and has a sense of wonder, maybe a bit slow. She is content.
Jodiann is beautiful—shy and reserved, but so smiley and so affectionate.
Gary is quiet but totally capable, and a seriously fast runner.
Chayce is artistic and creative and funny. I’m not sure that he belongs behind the special ed bars.

I am fascinated by their brains, by their lives, by the life that they radiate. I keep using the word “beautiful,” because it’s the only word that seems to fit.


So we painted a mural. It was amazing to watch, and amazing to be a part of. It was amazing to watch Aphek’s eyes light up in wonder, as if to say, “I make a flower?” Of course you can.
• Aphek: Because of you, where there was once only white canvas, now there is a garden.
• Richard: where there was once only white canvas, there is a soccer field, where you can run and play and enjoy your childhood.
• Jodiann: Because of you, we have leaves! Our trees have come to life!
• Sasha: because of you, we have mangoes—we have sweet, sweet food to eat!
• Shevaughn, because of you, we have explosions of color, seemingly meaningless and chaotic, throughout our little canvas world.
• Tahjay—because of you, we have an ocean to play and swim in, where land animals meet marine life.
• Dante: because of you, we have a heart—the universal and eternally powerful symbol of love. We have a Jamaican flag, a Jamaican identity, a community.
• Oneika-you gave us a church, one that goes outside of our idea of what a church should look like.

You’ve expanded our world. It is so easy to love you. And your names are forever branded on this canvas—this wonderful world that your beautiful brains allowed us to create.


The mural is perfect. We went in and finished things, made the mural somewhat cohesive, altered shapes and added colors. It is not without flaws—it is random and chaotic and kind of all over the place, but it is absolutely perfect for this small group of beautiful, beautiful kids. I am so proud of them for creating something so beautiful, creating something that is wholly theirs.

When we revealed the mural to them, they responded almost giddily, with wonder and excitement. It’s their mural, their creation, their space. They pointed out the things that they had painted, their names, what they liked most. They loved it; I loved it; I love them…

Simultaneously, the harsh reality of injustice coexists with something so wholly life-giving and wonderful. So I start here, and use this as my anchor, because Jamaica was so much more than a mural project with my lovely little children.