My head is full of refugees. What will come of it, I don’t know. They have been sitting on my heart growing heavier. With public sympathies engaged for the moment, I can’t stop thinking that now is the time to do more.
One of the little oddities of me is the terror worry that occurs any time I cross a national border without my children. The shape of my fear is that something will happen and I will be unable to get back. My head fills with elaborate scenes of the end of life as we know it. Me, trying to find north, walking and walking, whispering over and over again to my children (who cannot hear me) not to give up. I am coming. If I am breathing, I will be coming.
I’m not sure why this happens. I read a lot of WWII stories growing up. Maybe a disproportionate part of my psyche is filled with the possibility that life can change radically in a very short space of time. Whatever it is, enough of me knows that the current likelihood of being separated from my home and family is small., So far, I can still get out the door with reminders to myself that I live in an affluent nation at peace.
In contrast to my reality, the UN Refugee Agency reports that there are more displaced persons in the world today than at any time in history. Numbers are expected to rise. In fact, Globally, one in every 122 humans is now either a refugee, internally displaced, or seeking asylum. The numbers beg for response. Refugees are always pouring over borders in far away places. But this is different. The numbers stare off the page in the faces of families and children. What can we do?
Corrie Ten Boom, my life time heroine comes to mind. A clock maker, quietly taking Jewish refugees into her home for hiding until they could be transported to safety. But how can I follow her lead when the refugees aren’t in my yard? What do I even have to offer?
These are my questions and complaints to God. It’s not the pictures circulating in the media (most of which I haven’t seen); it’s the pictures in my head. I list ideas for God of how I might help followed by all the reasons why they won’t work. There is great frustration in having a burden laid on one’s heart about which one feels hopelessly ill-equipped to do very much.
I sat down to write today’s post with the wry comment to God, that it would be hard to write since all I could think about was the refugee crisis, but I obviously couldn’t write about that.
To which either my head or the stubbornly quiet God of my seeking said, Why not?
I started to give the reasons then realized there weren’t any. I don’t have the answers, but neither does anybody else. There is no single simple solution to the refugee crisis, but perhaps because it has no choice, the world is at least awakening. The more people who hear the cries of the displaced, the better. I don’t have the answers, but I have questions nagging at my insides.
Who is our neighbor? What can be done, here, now, in our time? What would we here be pleading and hoping for, if it was our land torn by civil war, and devoid of justice, safety, and access to basic resources? What would we pray, if instead of a future, we could offer our children only conflict, chaos, and despair? How might we become part of the answer to those same prayers rising now from other lips?