Ameena is one of my very favorite students. One of those who will stay in my heart forever, putting a smile on my face whenever I think of her.

Ameena arrived at our school in October of last year, a few weeks into our academic year. Her family had recently moved to the valley from Beirut, where none of the children had been able to attend school. At age nine, Ameena had never been in a classroom before. She and her younger brother Ali could barely hold pencils when they arrived at our learning center and were placed in a 1st-grade classroom for students around their age. Their younger sisters, Huda and Hiba, were placed in kindergarten classrooms.

Ameena quickly blossomed.

It was immediately apparent both she and Ali were naturally very bright. And not only did they focus well and participate eagerly, but Ameena and Ali also had the best attendance out of everyone in their class. Despite living farther away than most students, they never missed a day. They were respectful and diligent in their learning, both in Arabic and in English.

I was so intrigued by her and her brother that I asked if I could visit them at home one day. I was picturing them in this immaculate little tent with a sweet, caring mother. How could she not be with such respectful children? I assumed Ameena was the eldest in her family because she's so responsible and such. They enthusiastically agreed, and the next day Ameena sweetly waited for me at the end of the day so we could walk hand in hand to their… building.

I was surprised to see they lived not in a tent but in an unfinished building a five-minute walk from the center. And honestly, it was worse than any tent I’ve seen. We walked up a grungy, unfinished concrete stairwell with no electricity. Their apartment, on the top floor, had multiple holes in the concrete walls and many empty window openings. I slipped off my shoes near the doorway and was led to the one room that was rainproof. Her mother greeted me, looking about 25, which was not surprising as many of the women I'd met from the rural areas were married around 14 or 15 years old. I sat on the floor cushion and read to the girls as the mother left to make us coffee. I met two more little siblings and trying to make conversation, and I asked Ameena if these are the six children in her family. She smiled and nodded. A few minutes later, however, I noticed that under the stack of blankets in the corner was actually a newborn baby! Oh! I think. So there's another one. When her mother returned, I asked, once again trying to make conversation,

“So you have four girls and three boys?” She too smiled and nodded. Minutes later, a preteen boy entered the room. No one introduced us, so I asked if he's a cousin. “No, he's my son,” she responded. What? Apparently there are eight children, and Ameena is not the eldest. I finished my coffee and demonstrated I needed to return home.

And sure enough, as I was preparing to go, Ameena’s mother showed me photos of two teenage boys in Beirut… who are also her sons.

One evening we sat with Asma, one of our beloved teachers, in her home with her husband and children. All of her children have attended Hope Learning Center and she is one of our most valuable teachers. But we’ll tell you more about her later. Right now we want to tell you about her son.

As we sat together on mats on the floor in their sitting room with the TV on in the background. Asma was beaming telling us about the progress her son, Muhammad Nur, had made.

You see, this family fled violence in Syria about four years ago. That particular day they decided it was safer to make the journey to Lebanon than to stay in Syria, even though her husband was on business in the capitol. She bravely set off with her five children. It took them three long days on foot over the mountain range that separates Syria and Lebanon carrying the two youngest of her children.

For Muhammad Nur, trauma manifested in obvious ways. He developed anti-social behavior and had a very difficult time making friends and playing well with other children. At recess he would often be seen standing in the corner of the playground by himself. He also had a very challenging start in the classroom. Learning did not come easy and neither did appropriate classroom behavior.

Asma recognized that this was not who Muhammad Nur was. While some may have labeled him as disruptive or disobedient, you believed with us that he was more than his trauma allowed us to see.

That evening, drinking tea in their sitting room, Asma proclaimed that she couldn’t believe the improvement she was seeing. Not only could he read and write in both Arabic and English, but with tears in her eyes she declared that her son has made friends!

Through the generosity of people like you, Hope Learning Center’s trauma-informed classrooms are giving children like Muhammad Nur an opportunity to be defined, not by their trauma, but by who they are destined to be.

Giving Tuesday is on December 3 and we would like to ask you to make a difference for a student like Muhammad Nur at Hope Learning Center. Your generosity can help a Syrian child overcome their trauma and live in their destiny.

Mark your calendar. Maybe forgo a few lattes this week and stash that money for the big day. No investment is too big or too small. You are making a difference.