Fresh Perspective

  I knew that their one room garage home was small. Oppressive. Dark. Full of outside persecution, unfriendliness, and distress. Inside was hardly a shelter. Yet, it was all they had for 3 awfully long years. 3 years of not enough room to even walk about. 3 years of inhumane living conditions. Could we call this a refugee?  Hardly. They called it a prison.  But aren’t refugees supposed to find refuge? Could hand outs from the UN create refuge? Or food baskets? Or food vouchers? Or random donations of clothes and various pieces of broken old furniture equal refuge? Certainly, all these things helped. However, at the end of the day safety in shelter is necessary to move beyond bare survival. Two months ago, the three ladies that lived in this “home” were brave enough to trust me to start making cards. At first, I think they just thought it was a fun craft, but when they began to understand that this could be a livelihood for them, their eagerness to sew matched...

  Ten Thanksgivings. Nine Christmases. That is a lot of holidays to spend without family. It spans a young child becoming a teen or a teen becoming a young adult. Ten Thanksgivings without grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins equals a decade of memories not made. Nine Christmas’s apart is not a frivolous moment in time, but instead it represents a depth of understanding and experience. This is what our lives of living overseas has cost. 8 of those in Indonesia, and the latter in Lebanon. Those holidays have stretched us, as they have a way of highlighting choices made, unimaginable distance, and our unavailability. Even. To. Our. Children. It is rather ironic that on this tenth Christmas holiday we are flying to the USA. One would think that with a national pandemic threatening to undo our fragile world, and clear advice to not gather that this would be the one holiday that we would dutifully stay. But no. Crazy as it feels, the need to be present in our 15- and 17-year old’s...