This past week has been well, unusual for my family. It all started with a phone call on Sunday. You, see, our church is the “friendship” sponsor of a refugee family. The young widow and her 2 children arrived 3 weeks ago and were staying with her sister’s family until there was a health assessment so the committee knew what she could handle as a legally blind woman with a broken leg.
We had guests for lunch. The call from a family member said she can not stay here. Okay, tomorrow. Monday morning we got a call from a small neighborhood shop keeper who told us she along with her children wanted us to come get them. He and his wife were sympathetic. They are immigrants and arrived 6 years ago from Africa.
My husband and I headed out. Ilh was tearful and desperate. We brought her to our house.
Everyday faith has been the topic of the Sunday messages this summer. James is one of those books that makes it easy to disassociate from because it is actually so intensely in your face that pushing it away seems to come without a thought. But once a thought is put there, it can not be ignored then there is the problem of what to do about what one just read and knows it is for her.
That very Sunday Pastor Beau preached about bounty and sharing and what does that mean to us as we exercise our everyday faith. Hum… do we have too many clothes, more than enough space in our homes? It was not a condemnation of having but rather a challenge to consider what we do have and how to use it and share as James reminds the believers. God’s Word can make our lives so untidy at times.
So home she came. No English, exhausted with the arguing, good-bye to family who are still there. Displaced. We had room and could give her a place of peace and refuge. They spent the afternoon in my living room by themselves. She made phone calls home and to a translator. We made call to Church World Services, their sponsor. Now what? She and her confused tired daughters napped on the couch finally.
A place of peace. It’s been a week now. Some folks have commented on the situation in well-meaning ways but make me a bit uncomfortable. We have done nothing extraordinary. We had space, we had food aplenty, we have His peace in our home. This is not radical. This is normal for Christians.
Many of us would do the same. Is it always comfortable? No. Does it give me pause as I stroll through the grocery isles to toss this and that in my cart? Does it make me speak thanks aloud when I take my daughter to buy new shoes for cross-country? Is my heart full of thanks and glad for Him mercy on the widows and on me and mine? A resounding yes.
the means to buy new running shoes. Liking the purple and neon green soles.
twister and laughing girls
hugs from sloe eyed girls
the looks of pleasure in her face as she cooks a meal for us
wonder when we saw THE Star Spangled Banner
tender help from my love gals as they play with the new girls in town
beautiful bouquets of weeds and zinnias
a bounty of beds made up with beautiful quilts
laughter over lunch with visiting heart friends from East Asia
I am joining Multitudes on Mondays at A Holy Experience.