Every year in China about one percent of the population moves from the countryside to the cities in search of work. In China, that one percent is 13 million people. In most cases, village men head off to cities to find work, leaving their wives behind to raise the children and take care of their land. The men often get menial jobs and send the money back. After a man establishes himself in the city he is joined by his wife and children. The long-term migrants often settle into ethnic ghettos or cramped dormitories that in some cases have two or three men sleeping together on bunks in 10-meter-long rooms crammed with 40 men. Often they move about town lugging unwieldy bundles of bedding and belongings wrapped in plaid-patterned woven-plastic fabric that somehow has become the standard for such purposes. The migrating laborers work for low pay, often under horrendous conditions, in factories, at construction sites, in mines and on railroads and roads. They work in restaurants, die in coal mines, make bricks, peddle bicycle to deliver coal and pick up trash. It's not uncommon for them to follow jobs from city to city.
The schools that are provided for the children of these migrant workers are often unlicensed and substandard, but public schools are too expensive for migrant families to afford. Even if they could afford to attend these schools, most don't have the residence and work permits that the public schools require. As a result, many children are denied access to primary education in their host communities. In the community, migrant children are also frequent targets of prejudice, as many of them speak with regional accents and dress differently than city children (cmc-china.org).
As our driver dropped us off at the school for migrant children today, I was sure he had made a mistake. After leaving the freeway, we had spent the last five minutes squeezing through small lanes and alleys in a very run-down part of town. As I got out of the car, there was nothing that resembled a school of any kind. The driver motioned us towards a gate, in between two buildings, that was supposed to be the school entrance. Walking into the school courtyard, I viewed a very uninviting atmosphere. Everything was cement and brink. There was no grass, nothing warm or welcoming; just run-down buildings. I couldn’t help but feel for these children, and wonder how I had been so blessed to have the life I’ve had. How could life be so unfair?
What we wanted to accomplish today was painting the outside walls of their school. It surprised me that there were so many students there on a Saturday, but where else would they be? As I painted, I tried to take some time to interact with these wonderful children. They were so adorable and eager for the attention they lack at home, as their parents work long hours trying to provide. A group of children gathered by the fence where we were painting:
Little girl: How old are you?
Me: I’m about the same as you!
Little girl: What?? No way!!
Me: Uh huh! Aren’t you about twenty years old?
Little girl: Twenty?!? No, I’m only ten!!!
Teasing these little children and just hearing them laugh made everything worth it! As I interacted with them throughout the day, I was reminded that our happiness in life isn’t determined by our circumstances. I can only imagine the lives these children are living, and yet they had smiles on their faces. They were choosing to be happy.
At one point I was standing on a ladder, painting the side of the building, while there was a line of kids standing beneath me taking an eye exam. I was trying so hard not to drip paint on them, as they viewed an eye chart taped to an adjacent building. As I stood up their painting, I thought about how service increases our capacity to love. How could I feel so much love for these kids I didn’t even know? I couldn’t help but feel that I was receiving more from this experience than what I was giving, and only wished that there was more I could give. 
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