Welcome Home

In my previous post I mentioned that I have started volunteering with Samaritas, an agency who, among many other things, helps refugees get resettled here in Michigan. I have longed to help those forced to flee what's left of their homes with nothing more than what they could carry, which is more often than not, their children. I couldn't bear to think of how absolutely terrifying that would be to endure without vowing to help in whatever way that I can, and last week I got to do just that.

One of a myriad of services Samaritas provides is meeting refugee families at the airport, getting them to their new home (or transitional home if theirs is not ready), and providing them with a hot meal. These families have traveled long hours on multiple flights, most after having lived in refugee camps abroad for an average of 3 years. Three. Years. They've been through an exhaustive 13 step process (in some cases, 14) just to be eligible to come to the United States, and are finally seeing their dream of restarting their lives begin to unfold. They still have a long way to go once they arrive, and an extensive list of things they must do within the first 3 months to remain here, but just managing to get here at all is huge step.

Last week I had the privilege to go along with a Samaritas caseworker to meet an Afghan family of 8 at the airport. Our job was to greet them as they exited airport security, help them get their luggage, drive them to their new home (in this case, "home" was a hotel for 2 nights before their permanent home was ready), feed them a hot meal, and get them acquainted with whatever they immediately needed to know before we left them to get their much needed rest. I was full of excitement, anticipation, and honestly, a touch of anxiety as I followed the caseworker to the airport that evening. What would they be like? What would they think of me? How would we communicate? How do I make sure I communicate mutual respect rather than pity? I prayed and prayed all the way there for God to use me how He wanted, and to keep myself from getting in the way.

We ended up waiting around for quite a bit, trying to make sure we hadn't missed their arrival even though we were right on time and so was their flight. When I found out that the family consisted of the mother and father and 6 children ages 2-12 years old, I realized they would most likely be the last ones off the plane. I know I would hang back and let other passengers off first to make it easier for me to get my 4 kids off the plane if it were me. Add two more children to the mix and the fact that this was their 4th flight in roughly 36 hours and I knew they'd be the last ones to disembark. Sure enough, as the Pilot rounded the corner to the last security checkpoint, he was followed closely by a very large family who were visibly exhausted and confused. Finally we had our new neighbors in sight.

The father led his family to us, smile on his face, repeating the words "Thank you. Thank you." The fact that the father was with them and not stuck back in their home country, in the refugee camp, or dead, meant that this family had fared better than most as the majority of refugees arriving in the U.S. are women and children alone. The mother and children were straight up exhausted and the youngest boy was in full on meltdown mode as the father tried to explain to us something about losing his toy bike at one checkpoint. I looked sympathetically at the mother as I have a bit of experience in the toddler tantrum area and, I must say, she handled it better than I used to! This was the first of many moments to come where I was struck with the realization that, deep down where it matters, we are all the same. She may have been covered head to toe in a burka but, when our eyes met, the connection of mother to mother was the same as if I'd seen her in the check out at Trader Joe's.

Suddenly we were greeted by two other men and a young boy who we'd seen waiting in the airport earlier. They embraced the father and exchanged greetings in their native tongue. The caseworker turned to me and said "They have friends here, thank God!". Having just arrived in a new country totally different from their own in so many ways, having these familiar faces to help them navigate all they need to accomplish within the next 90 days would be a enormous blessing. Already they were helping to relay information from the father (who spoke some English) to us. We all headed to baggage claim, except the tantruming 2 year old. He took a little more convincing. Kids. :o)

Once the baggage carousel had rotated for the final time, we realized their luggage had not made the flight. The men and caseworker sprung into action while the mother and children sat down to wait. I tried my best to make it obvious, through warm smiles and glances, that I was willing to try to communicate with them if they were interested. I had downloaded a translating app to my phone just in case, but I could tell they were completely worn out. I couldn't blame them; what a journey they had just made from Afghanistan, to Germany, to Washington D.C., and finally Detroit. I wasn't going to push them any further as I would've appreciated the same if it were me in their shoes.

There were 8 total seats where we were, and two of the sisters had left one empty between them, so I sat down. I wanted the family, and any others who glanced our way in the airport (which was pretty much everyone) to get the sense that they belonged here, that this is their home. As I sat there people watching, noticing just how diverse the population of that baggage claim area was, I was overcome by a sense of peace. I felt that, even though I was really not doing anything, God was doing something. He always is, isn't He? The girl to my right nodded off, the little boy had calmed down, the mother seemed to be fighting off sleep herself, and the young girl to my left was curious about my iPhone. People are people. I would meet each of their tentative glances with a smile, and each time their travel weary faces softened a little more.

After a little while the caseworker told me I could head home since their friends wanted to help drive them from the airport. On one hand I was disappointed not to be able to help further, but on the other I realized that, at this point all they wanted to do was get to the hotel, eat, and rest, and they had all the help they needed. I stood up to go and the young girl who had been sitting to my left subtly glanced at me and met my gaze. I stopped, smiled, and waved goodbye, and she smiled back. I would never have thought that a simple smile from a complete stranger would warm my heart so much as this one did. I'll never forget it.

It is simple, really, to live as Jesus commands us. To love our neighbor as ourselves is second only to loving God himself.  To God, everyone is a neighbor, regardless of how close they live to us. Don't let yourself be tricked into thinking that this is a difficult thing to do. Extending basic human decency to others in need is something we can all do. I challenge everyone to find a way to do it everyday. I promise you that the blessings you pour on others in even the most seemingly small ways will splash back onto you many times over. I played the tiniest of parts in welcoming a new family to our country, but the impact it had on me will last a lifetime. Now I'm hooked.