Some reflections:
When we arrived at Shevet Achim in Jerusalem there were seven families living at the house in various stages of recovery from heart surgery. Seven families sharing one living room, one kitchen, one bathroom, one bedroom, one TV. No privacy, no car, no air conditioning. These families were away from home; away from their spouses and other children. They are in a foreign country, with a foreign language, religion and culture. They were in essence in the land of their enemy. And do you know what sounds drifted most often downstairs to the staff quarters? The laughter of children, brothers, dwelling in peace. Cramped, hot, unfamiliar. amazing.
A lesson can be learned from the families at Shevet Achim. This place, earth, can be crowded and unfamiliar. We can feel out of place. We can miss our husband and our real home. We are not completely well yet. Sometimes it is hot and we feel frustrated.
So, what do we do? Make friends. Play with the children. Pray to our Father for grace and mercy. And look ahead to the time that we will be at home, reunited with our husband and finally be whole. Until then let the sound of laughter drift upward to heaven.
Being from the southernmost part of the US, I have met few people from Iraq. Most of what I know about Iraq I learned from the nightly news. But today, I fell in love with an Iraqi child.
Hamza is unique. He is the most social of children. He spoke to, and knew, most of the people at the hospital and laughter followed with him wherever he went. He is chatty and witty and eager to teach me to speak Kurdish and Arabic. I was terrible at both languages and this was amusing to Hamza. He speaks enough English to converse in simple conversations.
I watched Hamza today with great interest. He engages with everyone and that is unusual today. As he went around the hospital making friends and bringing happiness, he shakes hands and is genuinely interested in the people that he meets. I watched him break a banana in as many pieces as possible to share with the other children. He cleared all our plates after lunch and offered to us all a part of his snack.
“Love does NO wrong to a neighbor.”
Who is my neighbor? Well, today Hamza from Iraq is my neighbor and Justin from LA, Robin from San Diego, Donna from Georgia, Dr Tamir from Jerusalem, Dr Abraham from Ethiopia.
I'm still new in Israel, and I don't understand all the history and disputes over the land. I don't understand all the heartache and poverty. I don't understand the language and still get confused over the money sometimes. But I know this: these children are the most precious and gracious children that I have ever known. They are playful, friendly, compassionate to each other and generous beyond anything I have ever seen. Their mothers, who sometimes have so little, break what they have and share it with us. If there are only chairs enough for us they insist on sitting in the floor. We are offered food and drinks wherever we go. They have shown me what it means to be a good neighbor. And frankly, it makes me ashamed of myself.