Over the last 4 years my life has been richly blessed by relationships with refugees and asylum seekers. As a result, my faith has deepened, my understanding broadened, my heart has opened and broken just a bit more, and my life is so much richer than it was before because of these amazing people.
I welcome and teach refugees English as an employee of a resettlement agency and also work with refugee youth and individuals as a Sunday school teacher and congregant of the Reformed Church in Highland Park, NJ. You might wonder how it is then that I am blessed since I am the one usually providing a service, but as in so many ways in Christ’s kingdom, the standard order of things is frequently turned upside down. I have seen the power of God’s love made real again and again in the lives of my newcomer friends, and I have been humbled by the faith they carry inside them which fuels their resilience, the hope and strength they display as each one seeks a safe home for themselves and their families.
My first student was a woman who fled the Congo years ago seeking safety in Uganda. She, her husband and 4 children arrived in the U.S. 3 years ago. I taught her for a year, until she had enough English to get a job in food service at a local university. Her children are all fluent and in school here, but my friend never had a chance to go to school. She struggled with the adjustment here; time and time again she would say, “It’s hard, so, so hard here.” Yet, day after day she came to class, many times with her youngest on her lap, to keep working on English. Week after week, she and her husband sat in the third row at church with their children sandwiched between them, all the while, praying and praising God, making adjustments every day to a new land, language and culture. All the while, they loved and nurtured their children as they had always done, from the Congo to Uganda to the United States. When I asked her why she wanted to come here she said, “For the kids. This country is for my children.” A few years ago, I took a trip overseas to learn more about migration and especially the dangers women faced in migration and resettling in often unwelcoming lands. I knew my friend had faced her own dangers; dangers that I could only imagine and it was my desire to understand elements of her life and journey better that prompted me to take this trip. Before I left, I asked her if she would pray for me. She was cooking that day at our church café and seemed a bit surprised, but took off her apron, and followed me into the small prayer chapel. She asked if I wanted her to pray in English or in her own language, Kinyamulenge. Kinyamulenge is her first language, her heart language, as we sometimes say, and I knew she would be able to pray exactly as she wished then, not worrying about what English words to choose. “Pray in Kinyamulenge, please,” I said. As she placed her caring hand on my shoulder and began to pray, her words washed over me, and I was enveloped in one of the strongest senses of God’s love I have ever felt. I couldn’t understand one thing she was saying and at the same time, I knew exactly what she was praying. God was touching me at that moment and sending me off. God was there. God had been with my friend her whole life, keeping her until this very moment; God had been with me, keeping me until this very moment. And here we sat brought together in God’s own time and by God’s grace to encourage and support each other on our journeys. I was deeply blessed and carry this loving prayer inside me always.
I don’t want to make this journey in my life only knowing people from my own country and only knowing people who speak my own language or share my own faith. God’s love and power and work in this world are so much bigger than that. When I open myself to welcoming and loving those from another land, I am opening myself to God.