They come from situations we’ve only read about, and chosen to distance ourselves from. They’ve faced profound persecution, violence, starvation, and unfathomable humanitarian crises. They seek the simple: Clean water, food, education, a roof, a measure of safety, a measure of acceptance, a measure of stability. They listen. They strain. They try to understand us. They study to learn our language, so they might be able to communicate their needs. Desires. Gratitude. Humor. Life.
Some hear broken English. I hear the flawless sound of resilience.
They come from distant lands, escaping war, famine, natural disaster, unlivable conditions, persecution, economic instability, etc.
They arrive carrying whatever they can. Perhaps a photo or two. A key to a house that may no longer exist. Only the clothes on their backs.
One very dear Syrian friend had to leave suddenly. Flee. Her family, in the middle of a meal, left pots and plates of food years ago.
Ukrainian friends we now consider family arrived with one school-type backpack for their family of four. Yes, you read that correctly. Some aren’t even that lucky.
Dowla chose one item to bring: A wooden pole, balanced on her shoulders, with which to carry her six children when they tired of the 10-day walk from Sudan to a refugee camp in South Sudan.
Aboubacar fled Mali on a donkey cart with his wife and two children. The one item he chose to bring? His goat. “The goat brings me hope, joy, and a sense that things can change for the better.”
After dealing with several months of air raids, Magboola and her three children finally left Sudan the night soldiers came and opened fire. The most important item she chose to carry: a small cooking pot. It could be easily carried, and used to feed her children.
102-year-old Omar is blind. His item of choice was his lati (his walking stick). “If I hadn’t had my lati, I would have crawled to Bangladesh.” The situation in the village he loved, yet had to flee, was dire. The journey, unimaginably hard. A quote I relish from him is this: “If you laugh, others will laugh with you. And if you stop laughing, you will die.”
Elizabeth fled war in Angola. 52 years later, she still struggles with the feeling of not having a real home. The one item she still has with her is her Bible. “In this world, bad things happen, but in the Bible you can find words which help you.”
The stories are endless unimaginable heartbreaking staggering awe-inspiring.
The people are strong courageous thankful giving hopeful, in spite of it all.
It is my honor and great blessing to look into the eyes of those I am privileged to personally know. To hear their stories. See their smiling eyes. Feel their arms around me. Their kisses on my cheeks. To taste their food. Receive their time and their love.
She, with little to her name, fumbles a moment in her purse, rolls down her window, and hands money to the man with the sign she can’t read. He thanks her, and says, “God bless you.” All she understands is his smile, which she returns with a nod of her head. She rolls up her window. I place my hand on her shoulder. She smiles at me, and I at her.
And how could I have immediately known her, if not for the light.
you were a child, afraid of trying something new balking at the color texture odor
untrusting of where it came from afraid it might hurt you even though some you know and even trust happily partook regularly and encouraged you just try it.
Remember when you thought about a sample just a tiny one and thought perhaps it might not be as risky as you feared and in fact maybe it might be tolerable.
Remember when you matured enough to actually test those waters and found them to be okay and maybe even appealing and maybe even begged another try and then you discovered you loved it and that you even felt better when you had it as a regular maybe even daily part of your sustenance and did everything you could to make sure it was right here where it could fill you up.
Some of the most physically gorgeous sincere generous intelligent strongest kindest women I know — women I have the privilege of loving and being loved by —
scream.
Not with their voices
but with their color covering accent mother tongue.
They scream, Foreigner! Criminal! Unsafe! Unwelcome!
The beautiful truths in their hearts are misperceived. They are viewed as ugly lies in the eyes of the listeners who hear only what they are told to hear.
If only you knew them. If only you were willing to spend time communicating communing sharing food exchanging smiles searching their eyes tracing their hearts experiencing their generosity,
your hate and fear would shut up shut down.
Your heart and home would open expand make way.
You would hear not screams, but intelligent ideas endearing emotions liberal benevolence soothing sentiments
and you would do anything in your power to protect their lives and their hearts, and protect your relationship with them.
Teaching ESL (English as a Second Language) to Possible U.S. (United States) Citizens
We are too different to unite. I will never be convinced Integration is possible. I see Insurmountable hurdles. Listen: Don’t be fooled into thinking these are U.S. citizens in the making
When is the time to ask, “From what are you fleeing?” to decipher which response sits well with your belief system of what is acceptable?
A conventional distance between bombs fallen, and their child’s bedroom?
Number of women kidnapped for sexual gain? Number of children?
The amount of food unavailable to feed themselves? Their children?
Are there adequate words to set your mind at ease that this person’s plight’s perilous enough to justify leaving home, setting themselves at risk in different ways than what they feel forced to leave – forced to escape – now?
To make certain their endangerment matches your own definition?
And when, in your thoughts, is it acceptable to bomb a hospital?
Perhaps when evil lurks beneath? Then, innocents are expendable?
What gives you enough luxury of ease of mind to give your thumbs up?
pictured words 