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Michelle DeRusha

Every Day Faith. Faith Every Day.

immigrant

What a Newborn Baby Taught Me about America the Beautiful

July 3, 2018 By Michelle

A baby girl named Eileen Aldake was born this week. Like every name, hers has a story. And like almost every story, this one includes painful chapters, as well as chapters brimming with joy and hope.

My husband and I first met Eileen’s parents and siblings a year and a half ago in the Lincoln airport. They looked travel-weary that afternoon, a little bit like deer caught in a blinding headlight.

They’d been on the run, persecuted by ISIS in Iraq. They’d lost friends and loved ones to genocide and left others behind, unsure when, or if, they would see them again. Their community had been fractured into a thousand shards. They’d traveled more than 6,000 miles to arrive in a foreign land as refugees, their belongings packed into six suitcases.

Since that first chaotic day we met the Aldakes in the airport, we’ve gotten to know them, not just as our “sponsored family,” but, as the weeks and months have passed, as people we now call friends. We’ve played soccer in the park, shared watermelon and platters of dolma, colored princess and unicorn pictures, cheered Real Madrid while we sipped sugary chai tea.

We’ve watched as their kids have learned English and settled into their new school. We’ve witnessed Afia juggle the demands of four young children while taking English classes and learning to drive. We’ve observed Azzat manage near full-time work as a translator along with full-time college, steadily making progress toward earning his degree.

I can’t imagine doing even half of what they have accomplished over these last 18 months. They have not only survived in this foreign land they now call home; they have thrived.

A few weeks ago Brad and I sat in the Aldakes’ living room enjoying a plate of homemade kulicha, as we so often do when we visit. We were talking about the baby, due to arrive in late June. When Azzat asked me what my favorite girl’s name was, I told him if we’d had a girl ourselves, Brad and I had planned to name her Eileen, after my maternal grandmother.

Azzat turned to Afia, and they conversed in Kurdish for a few seconds. Then he turned back to Brad and me. “It’s Eileen then,” he announced. “We will name the baby Eileen.”

Brad and I protested. “No, no, no,” we insisted. “We were just making conversation! We should definitely not name your baby!” This was an important decision, we said. Didn’t they want to choose an Iraqi name – maybe a name that had special meaning in their Yezidi culture?

Azzat stood firm. “Eileen,” he said. “She will be called Eileen.”

On Sunday morning of this week, Eileen was born. Azzat texted me from the hospital to get the correct spelling of her name for the birth certificate. On Wednesday of this week we celebrate the Fourth of July, the day each year that Americans remember our nation’s defining principles and values and the rights we cherish so deeply: life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.

How fitting it is that tiny Eileen Aldake made her way into the world this week, of all weeks.

Eileen Aldake, born to Iraqi Yezidi parents who arrived in this country as refugees seeking asylum, is an American citizen, named after my maternal grandmother, the daughter of Irish immigrants. How apropos that we celebrate both the birth of this precious baby and the country that offers her and her family freedom, security, opportunity and religious liberty.

How often I take those “certain unalienable rights” for granted. The Aldakes, persecuted for their religion and culture, have a much greater appreciation for these rights than I, from my position of privilege, ever will.

Back when I was in elementary school, I was taught that America was a melting pot – a blending of many different peoples and cultures into one entity known as “America.” Turns out, that metaphor wasn’t quite right. We are not a country comprised of an indistinguishable mass of people. America is not a bland blurring of watered-down sameness.

Rather, we are a tapestry, an infinite number of threads – cultures, ethnicities, traditions, music, food, fashion, languages, religions, customs – woven together to create a vibrant, rich, varied, eclectic, beautifully unique America.

America is America because of our defining principles and our “certain unalienable rights,” this is true. But America is also America because of our people. This country has always been and continues to be comprised of immigrants (with the glaring exception, of course, of the indigenous people, who we drove from their own land, and the African-American people, who we brought here enslaved and against their will). Our immigrant heritage is in large part the very reason America is what it is today.

How perfectly fitting, then, that baby Eileen is the daughter of Iraqi immigrants and, at the same time, named for my maternal grandmother, daughter of Irish immigrants who, too, traveled thousands of miles to seek out a better life. How perfectly “American” her name is: Eileen Aldake — two diverse stories, two diverse histories, threads woven together into a uniquely beautiful tapestry. How perfectly fitting that she was born this week, of all weeks, when we celebrate America the beautiful.

My birthday is this Wednesday – the Fourth of July – and I can’t think of a more meaningful birthday gift than the arrival of this sweet baby who bears the name of my Irish-American maternal grandmother. Not only am I deeply touched that our friends named their precious baby Eileen, it’s also a gift this week to celebrate tiny Eileen Aldake and her dear family, who are the embodiment of so much of what makes America truly beautiful.

Filed Under: 4th of July, immigrant, refugees Tagged With: #WeWelcomeRefugees, Fourth of July, immigrants

On This, the 500th Anniversary of the Protestant Reformation, How Will You Take Up Your Hammer and Nail?

October 31, 2017 By Michelle

Today Protestants around the world celebrate and commemorate the 500th anniversary of the Protestant Reformation, remembering the day Martin Luther nailed his 95 Theses to the doors of Castle Church in Wittenberg, Germany, and in doing so, set in motion a revolution that would dramatically impact the church and history.

Today is a day of looking back in admiration and gratitude at a man who, led by the Holy Spirit, courageously took a tremendous leap of faith. Not only did Martin Luther recognize where he and his fellow Christians were falling short of God’s vision for his kingdom on earth, he determined to do his part in righting the wrongs he witnessed.

It’s easy for us to look back at sixteenth-century Europe as a time of upheaval, corruption, and chaos, a time in which the church was in dire need of reformation. But the truth is, the reformation isn’t over. We face different battles than our sixteenth-century sisters and brothers, but our world in still very much in need of reconciliation, reform, and renewal. The same Holy Spirit that moved in and through Martin Luther is moving in us and through us. We are called to love not only with words, but with actions and in truth. 

I don’t know what reformation looks like for you. Half the time, I don’t know what reformation looks like for me. It seems there is so much wrong with the world, it’s hard to know where and how to begin. I do know, though, that God isn’t necessarily calling us to love with action and in truth on the global stage, but right where we are – in the quiet corners of our own homes and schools, workplaces and neighborhoods.

You might not have 95 points of contention like Martin Luther did. But I’m willing to bet there are one or two issues that light a fire in you, places in your small corner of the world where you could wield a hammer and nail.

Tonight our Iraqi friends will come over to our house. The four kids will transform into three princesses and a Spider Man, we’ll hand them each a plastic pumpkin, and together with their mom and dad we’ll go trick-or-treating from house to house in our neighborhood. This is their first Halloween. A year ago they were living desperate and terrified, on the run from ISIS in their worn-torn homeland. Tonight they’ll wear tulle and crowns and Spider Man muscles. They’ll ring door bells and fill their plastic pumpkins full of Milky Ways and M&Ms, and there will be laughter and pretend spookiness instead of sorrow and real fear.

Our Iraqi friends and people like them are maligned and feared by some in our government and many in our nation and around the world. Welcoming them to our country, sharing meals and laughter, and even something as silly as trick or treating are gestures of hospitality, friendship, and love. But they are also our own small steps toward revolution and reform, the way we quietly but resolutely wield our hammer and nail. Sharing a plate of dolma or a package of Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups with our Iraqi friends won’t change the world, but it might make a small difference in six precious lives.

Maybe, like me, you’ve looked to others to be our modern-day reformers. Maybe, like me, you consider yourself too ordinary to be a revolutionary. But let me remind you, Martin Luther was an ordinary fellow at one time, too – a no-name monk living in a no-name town. He saw wrongs that needed righting, and he took up a hammer and a nail in his corner of the world.

The reformation is not over. The Spirit is still moving, calling each one of us to participate in God’s ongoing reconciliation and renewal, calling each one of us to take up our hammer and nail. Reformation continues today, with me and you.

Filed Under: immigrant, Martin and Katharina Luther, refugees Tagged With: 500th Anniversary of Protestant Reformation, 95 Theses, Martin Luther, Protestant Reformation

Hear It on Sunday, Use It on Monday: No Exceptions

September 17, 2012 By Michelle


 
As the sandwiches, Cokes and chips slid down the conveyer belt, the cashier turned to me with a question: “Likethatinasack?”

“I’m sorry, excuse me?”


“Likethatinasack?” 

I looked at her blankly.


“Do…you…want…it…in…a….sack?” She pointed at the plastic bag with a magenta fingernail.

“Ohhhhhh…a bag.Yeah, yeah. Please. A bag.”

I wondered if she could tell. Was it clear that I hadn’t known what she meant when she used the word “sack” instead of bag? The realization was sharp, sudden: I’d been in Nebraska all of two hours, and it felt like I’d landed in a foreign country. I didn’t even speak the language.

I often think about my move to Nebraska when I read the many verses about foreigners that are peppered throughout much of the Old Testament. I can’t imagine how difficult it is for the immigrants who come to the United States, most without a job awaiting them, or adequate housing. Most not knowing more than a word or two of English. Many not knowing a single soul. I can’t imagine how overwhelming it would be to navigate the aisles of SunMart, never mind converse with the cashier.

God is very clear about how he wants us to help these newcomers. Just as he loves the foreigners living among us, giving them food and clothing, he expects we will do the same:

“So you, too, must show love to foreigners, for you yourselves were once foreigners in the land of Egypt.” (Deuteronomy 10:19).

The problem, of course, is that sometimes we make exceptions to this command. We decide only certain foreigners deserve our help – the ones who are here legally, the ones who aren’t stealing our jobs, the ones who we deem are working hard enough or who are assimilating as they should or who are learning English adequately. The ones who aren’t abusing the system.

We make exceptions. We determine who we will help and who doesn’t qualify.

I know this because I have thought exactly this way from time to time. And I’ve been set straight by God.

The truth is, God “shows no partiality.” (Deuteronomy 10:17)

He doesn’t separate foreigners into two categories: the deserving and the undeserving. Instead, he loves, clothes and feeds all, and he states explicitly that he expects us to do the same.

“Show love to foreigners,” he commands – not “show love to some foreigners” or “show love to these foreigners, but not those.” Simply, show love to all foreigners.

Sometimes it’s easy to get caught up in politics and controversies and lose sight of what God wants. In the end, though, it’s not that complicated. The Bible is clear. God wants us to show no partiality. He wants us to love everyone.

No exceptions.

Do you ever make a distinction between who you deem deserving and who you deem undeserving? Have any of the verses about foreigners in the Bible ever changed the way you think? 

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One little note…before we get to the Hear It, Use It link-up: I wanted to let you know about a new link-up community launched by my friend Jenn LeBow — a Monday link-up community called Mercy Mondays. Today’s prompt is “Singing of his Mercy — How Mercy and Music Intersects for you.” Will you pop over to Jenn’s place to check it out? I think you’ll find it a cool place to hang for a while!

 : : : :
 
Welcome to the “Hear It on Sunday, Use It on Monday” community, a place where we share what we are hearing from God and his Word.

If you’re here for the first time, click here for more information. Please include the Hear It, Use It button (grab the code below) or a link in your post, so your readers know where to find the community if they want to join in — thank you!

Please also try to visit and leave some friendly encouragement in the comment box of at least one other Hear It, Use It participant. And if you want to tweet about the community, please use the #HearItUseIt hashtag.

 Thank you — I am so grateful that you are here!


 

Click here to get Graceful in your email in-box. Click here to “like” my Facebook Writer page. Thank you!

Filed Under: immigrant, judging, Nebraska, Old Testament, Use It on Monday

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For as long as I can remember, I’ve been a Triple Type A, “make it happen” (my dad’s favorite mantra) striver and achiever (I’m a 3 on the Enneagram, which tells you everything you need to know), but these days my striving looks more like sitting in silence on a park bench, my dog at my feet, as I slowly learn to let go of the false selves that have formed my identity for decades and lean toward uncovering who God created me to be.

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