This is my living room right now:
This is my basement:
It’s not pretty. In fact, it’s messy, cluttered and driving me a little bit crazy. And I haven’t even shown you the garage, which is full from front to back with used furniture.
For the past few weeks my family and a small group of our friends have been collecting furniture and household items in order to set up an apartment for a Yazidi family of six who will be arriving as refugees from Iraq on December 14.
The parents and their four young children will likely land in America with nothing more than a couple of backpacks, and although Lincoln has a large Yazidi community, this family knows only one person here, a former co-worker. We know virtually nothing about this mom and dad and their four kids, except their names, their ages, and the fact that the husband speaks a little English.
Our case coordinator Vanja told Brad and me a little bit about the Yazidi people — how warm they are, how they never shake hands but always embrace instead (which made me laugh, as Brad, the stoic Minnesotan Nord, and me, the reserved New Englander, are perhaps two of the least huggy people in the universe).
“You will be their window, their doorway into this new life,” Vanja told us, “but your lives are about to be forever changed too.”
Vanya’s statement reminded me of something I read by Henri Nouwen recently:
“The discipline of community makes us persons; that is, people who are sounding through to each other (the Latin word personare means ‘sounding through’) a truth, a beauty, and a love which is greater, fuller, and richer than we ourselves can grasp. In true community we are windows constantly offering each other new views on the mystery of God’s presence in our lives.”
I like that. It’s beautiful and lovely. On the other hand, let me be straight-up honest with you: Vanja’s statement made me a little nervous.
Being someone’s “window and doorway into this new life” sounds like a lot of responsiblity. Honestly, I don’t know if I’m up for it. I don’t know what this relationship might look like. I don’t know how to navigate it. In the same way clutter and untidiness breathe unrest into my heart and soul, scenarios like these, in which I can’t predict or control the outcome, make me uneasy too. I don’t particularly enjoy walking into new and unfamiliar situations. I don’t like social awkwardness (who does, right?). I don’t like not knowing what to say, or wondering if I’ve said the wrong thing.
This is all pretty far beyond the tidy boundaries of my nice, neat, ordinary life.
A couple of months ago I was listening to On Being during my morning run, and the woman being interviewed said something that stuck with me. She was talking about running – specifically about how sometimes, when you push yourself past your comfort zone, past the point you think you are physically able to go, you reap unexpected rewards.
“The blessing,” she said, “is outside of your comfort zone.”
I’ve been thinking about that phrase a lot lately as we prepare for the arrival of our Yazidi family a week from today. I’ve already experienced myriad blessings – in the strangers who, seeing my request for donations on Facebook, have mailed checks to pay for groceries; in the friends and acquaintances who have texted, messaged, and called to say they have linens, a blender, a television, a dresser, snow boots, backpacks, pots and pans, beds; in the generosity of strangers and neighbors alike. It’s been beautiful, really, to see our community rally in support of people they don’t know, people who are “different,” people they will likely never meet.
I don’t know how this will all turn out. There are a lot of unknowns here, and the unknowns — that which is outside my comfort zone – are intimidating. But in the midst of all I don’t know, I am also confident that there will be blessings on the other side.
Michelle:
Interacting with refugees, making space for them in our lives, adapting to learning from their values does take us out of our comfort zone. Being of help to others often comes at “inconvenient times”, crowds our personal spaces – most of us are reluctant at being “heroes”, even in small ways. Yet stepping forward despite our personal feelings, is necessary and one step leads to another.
I really love how you put that, Christine. Thanks for helping me think about all this in a little bit of a different way.
Your mother & I will be sleeping in your basement as of December,22nd. We think we would like to see a certificate from the Lincoln Board of Health rendering safe for human occupancy.
Hey Michelle,
I reckon this is the epitome of the contradictory phrase, “ordinary extraordinary.”
There’s such beauty in the gift of serving and loving and giving. May God bless you all as you shine and share His light.
In His grace this family is blessed beyond measure. PTL!
I hope Lincoln does as much to help those in their own backyard that are mentally ill, isolated, have no assistance because ” they dont qualify.” I came to this country with nothing. I was not a refugee but in His grace alone this brown skinned orphan girl from Goa India was given a chance in this Great country that I love, whose laws I feel honored to respect and for her flag and her people I would give my life. I was 19 that girl is now 50. Alongwith all we grant others may we never forget our neighbors who silently need us but fall through the cracks every day because we dont see them.
We have quite a few non-profits here in town that serve the poor, needy and underprivileged with food, medical care, social services, housing, etc. I’m sure there is always more we could do, and more we could do better, but I am heartened by what I see “on the ground” here in Lincoln. Your story is amazing, Corena – thank you for sharing a bit of it here. And yes, you are right – there are so, so many who silently need us but fall through the cracks. We are called to open our eyes and ears and help them too.
Michelle, whether you know it or not, your life is a continual window as open your life and share it here weekly, for all the world to see. (And I love what I see when I look beyond the glass, the computer screen). This of course if a whole new level of being seen and seeing others. What a generous gift of yourself and your family to this precious family who will be strangers in a strange place (just the very thought is unfathomable and terribly frightening). You and those who are helping will be home to them, their beacon of hope and new life. Your sense of home is expanding (and also, your sense of mystery). I can think of no greater blessing. God bless you in this generous gesture and give you the courage and grace to remain a welcoming window.
Love
Lynn
PS Where did you fine the Nouwen quote? It’s so lovely.
Thank you, Lynn. That means A LOT to me.
The quote comes from Spirtual Formation: Following the Movements of the Spirit. It’s excellent. https://www.amazon.com/Spiritual-Formation-Following-Movements-Spirit/dp/0061686131/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1481138291&sr=1-1&keywords=Spiritual+Formation+Henri+Nouwen
And thanks so much for this! I’ll ck it out
a beautiful reflection! thank you!
Great lesson and wise words here today. I will always remember the Laotian family we helped settled in the 70s through the Lutheran refugee group. I remember their smiles and lessons they taught me. I cherish this again through your experience.
Hye Michelle,
That quote is exactly what I could have used a few times over the past week. I’m going to steal it and give credit as best I can. I know it is really hard to go outside of the comfort zone, it involves change, we are never the same after even the tiniest shift. I know you are going to do a wonderful job with the refugees, you wouldn’t be worried if you didn’t care, we never know how far God wants us to go in each event in life, so the windows and doors may not be so plentiful or difficult. Your place looks pretty much like mine at the moment, makes me wonder how it all fits in my place.