“Tears are words the heart can’t express.” – Unknown
With the deepest purpose, tears well up from the smallest glands. Born in the lacrimal glands just above the eye, they spill forth not just to cleanse and protect but to speak—of sorrow, joy, relief and everything in between. Silent messengers of the soul, tears track the contours of our emotions, revealing what words sometimes cannot.
I was taken aback when tears ran down the face of our local principal. We were discussing routine tasks, nothing out of the ordinary. Our teammates had just returned from furlough after four long months, during which I had the privilege of mentoring and guiding the new administrative team. The principal had only been in his role for a few months, and leadership development training became part of our daily work. My role was simple: to listen, to guide and to support.
But my relationship with our principal had not always been this way.
When we first took over leadership of the project, our relationship was strained. Cultural differences, language barriers, long-standing alliances and even gossip stood between us. We barely knew each other, and neither of us had the time—or perhaps the willingness—to bridge the gap.
Over the last two years, something had changed. We spent time talking, training, and laughing together. I grew in my understanding of the local culture and even learned key phrases in Khmer. In this country, foreigners—especially those in leadership—are always addressed as teacher. It is a term of respect used when someone does not know you well or when your position demands it.
At first, in emails and conversations, he would sometimes call me René, then quickly revert to teacher. I didn’t think much of it, but I noticed.
That day, as he struggled to find the words, he finally said:
“I . . . you . . . we . . .”
I waited.
Then he told me how much our relationship meant to him. He said that now that he truly knew me, I was no longer teacher.
I was sister.
I often wonder what brought about the change. Was it simply time spent together? Did I change in some way?
All I know is this: I would much rather be called sister than teacher.
This is the power of relationship. This is the power of presence. And this is what your generosity makes possible—bridging cultural divides, breaking down barriers and transforming professional titles into bonds of family.
Each day, I pray for the Spirit’s guidance to continue helping me be a sister to my brother in ways that words—and even tears—can barely express. Thank you for making stories like this possible.
