Sunday, March 19, 2017

Fruitful Friends

People often ask me what I miss the most about Lyon. It's hard to decide, because there were many lovely things about living there, but above all, I miss the friends I made from all around the world. In our ministry to English-speaking internationals, we formed relationships with people from over 60 different countries during our three years in France. Nothing that I've experienced before or since has been as enriching and enlightening than getting to know people from diverse cultural backgrounds. Over time, I grew to discover that regardless of background, income level, social status, race, religion, or gender, people have the same common desires to be loved, accepted, and respected.

When we came back to America last summer, a generous family offered us their rental house for a couple of months until we landed back on our feet. The home was a restful haven in the woods, far different from the urban lifestyle which we had grown accustomed to, yet it was just what we needed for the early transition. The only drawback was that the property happened to be in a very homogenous suburb of Charlotte. Right away, I grieved the loss of diversity in my everyday experiences. After a few months, we finally felt ready to settle in, and we purposefully chose a multiracial midtown neighborhood. I went to work in a racially diverse school, and Greg applied for pastor positions in churches with diverse congregations. Although we interacted a lot with people of different colors, they were almost all Americans -- I still missed mixing it up with internationals. Yet I didn't make an effort to seek out immigrants until the new administration's first travel ban.

When Trump's executive order temporarily banning immigration from seven nations hit the news last month, I was stunned. It deeply saddened me to watch the scenes of chaos at the airports as travelers were detained and stranded while their loved ones waited helplessly nearby. The anger and sadness I felt spurred me into action. I wanted to do my part in welcoming immigrants - especially refugees - and hopefully showing them that most Americans view them through eyes of compassion, not suspicion. The very next day, I researched on the web and found two organizations in Charlotte that offered volunteer assistance to refugees. Through those programs, I was matched with two families new to America.

The first of these experiences came through an organization called Refugee Support Services, which has a program aptly named "Fruitful Friends." This program pairs American families with refugees for the purposes of building cross-cultural relationships. There's no agenda other than helping the families feel welcomed to their new home. Having lived in another country myself, I could totally relate to the desire to make friends with the natives! We had been blessed to be on the receiving end of friendships with French families, and now I was excited to be able to show hospitality to newcomers. We were matched with a large family of Syrian refugees - nine in total including a father, mother, grandpa & grandma and five precious kiddos! They had fled war-torn Syria four years ago and had spent those four years in Jordan while awaiting (and being extremely vetted) for relocation to America. We met this wonderful family for the first time two weeks ago, and the following week we were invited to their apartment for lunch.

When we entered their apartment, they greeted us with warm smiles, handshakes, and kisses. We were shown to the best seats in the living room and were immediately offered cups of strong coffee. I noticed that the family photo we had given them on our introductory meeting was now framed and displayed prominently on top of the mantle.

How humbling! We were meant to be showing them hospitality, yet they were bending over backwards to welcome us. Our new friends didn't speak English other than a few simple greetings, yet communication wasn't too difficult thanks to apps on our smartphones. Our daughter Lindsey had brought a beading kit for the girls and a soccer ball for the boys. Lindsey and the oldest girls, aged 7 and 8, immediately set off creating necklaces and bracelets. Later I brought out a game of Uno, and taught the kids to play. They picked it up quickly, proudly showing off their knowledge of the English numbers and colors that they'd learned in school. Mom and grandma headed to the kitchen while we played the game, and before long we were treated to an amazing feast of middle eastern dishes: taboule, pan fried fish, and a mountain of stuffed grape leaves. Every time I ate one grape leaf, grandma reached over and put three more on my plate! They must have thought Lindsey was too thin, because they loaded her plate with not one but three fish filets! About halfway into our meal, the door opened and a Syrian neighbor walked in. He was greeted, and he sat down at the table with us. He had arrived in America the year before, and spoke English fairly well, so he helped with translations. As I struggled to make a dent in my pile of food, he looked over and with a twinkle in his eye, he said, "You must finish everything or it will be very insulting." Oh no! There was no way I could possibly finish. Everything was so good but I'd had seconds and thirds already. The next time grandma reached over, I took a cue from our guest and held up my hand in a gesture of "no thank you."

As we were drinking Turkish-style tea after lunch, there was yet another knock on the door. Three more Syrians came in, a dad, mom, and teen, and they too were welcomed to the party. How did our family know all these people already? It was fun to see the strong sense of community within this culture. As it turned out, the last family to arrive had been in America for 30 years. This was their first time to meet the newcomers. They explained to us that there was an informal network of fellow Syrians in Charlotte who helped reach out to new refugees and help them out. I started to feel a seed of doubt - maybe we weren't necessary after all. Maybe we were trying to force friendship on these strangers when they didn't really want it. But then I remembered what the volunteer coordinator had said when she matched us up with this family. She'd said that usually they don't match up families until after the 90-day period during which new immigrants receive government assistance. But this particular family had come to the Refugee Support Services center specifically asking for American friends. They wanted to meet us! And the man who had been in America for 30 years confirmed that sentiment - he translated for us that our new friends said they were so very happy and grateful to meet us. Reassured, we continued to socialize until the dessert dishes were finally removed. As we left, our new friends once again shook our hands and hugged us. We met up again yesterday, but stories from that encounter, as well as stories from the Congolese family I was paired up with through a different organization, will have to wait until next time. Believe me, there is plenty to write about!

2 comments:

  1. Ah, Wende, you make my heart glad. Thank you for following God's leading and sharing your stories! I love it! I decided in the end to not apply for Fruitful Friends just at this moment because I felt like we as a family wouldn't be able to honestly add the responsibility and meet people well and consistently. God, in his amazing way, kept me on course for still meeting my heart's desire to be engaged with immigrants with the high school I'll be joining this fall. It's not the high school that I would have picked, but rather it was picked for me. As you say in your next blog post - we all have to engage on our own terms (or God-directed terms), but we do have to engage with the people we're called to love. Thank you for continuously being a source of encouragement in our lives for almost a decade!

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    1. Thanks, friend! I saw the news about your teaching job on FB. I know God will work through you to touch the lives and hearts of many teens!

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