No Pretty Pictures

Blogging experts say to never put up a post without a photo. Well, I'm doing just that. I'd like, instead, to tell you a little story. It's a story that hasn't ended yet, but a brand new chapter has begun. I can't give you names and too many details in order to protect the characters, but this is a true story. 

A Canadian archaeologist and her husband spent quite a lot of time on digs in Syria. While there, they built relationships with the local people. Hardworking, honest people who wanted only to make a decent living for their families, to sit around a table with friends, to educate their children, to laugh and eat and drink. In peace. 

Then came war. A war that ripped the fabric of Syrian life apart. Safety and security disappeared. There were no more archaeological digs. Food became scarce, safety illusory. Horror grew.

The Canadian couple began the refugee process for this family of several grown siblings and their dependents. One by one the families are coming to Canada. To relief from war, from fear of bombings and brutality.

In November I wrote a post about helping our daughter and son-in-law finish a basement suite. 

I'm so pleased that today, in that tiny two-bedroom suite, lives a beautiful little family. A father, a mother, and two small, very small, children. They have peace. They are surely homesick for what they once knew. They feel alien. They need to learn English and will begin classes in a few weeks. 

When it snowed, the father took his little daughter outdoors and she was enchanted, playing and laughing as snowflakes fell. 

Our children came home from work one day this past week to find that their back yard, once full of lumps and potholes, had been dug and smoothed, and is ready for grass seed. The young father and his brother, also newly arrived to Canada, want to work. They need something to do. And so they did this. 

Our daughter visits the young mother and her children; she goes down for tea and they communicate in broken English, lots of sign language, and plenty of smiles. 

I am proud, oh so proud, of our children, all of them. Our other children have donated generously to help refugees. This pair has given time and space and money to help provide a refuge for refugees.

During the second World War, there are many stories of Christians helping Jews. But there are also stories of Muslims hiding Jews. 

This is not a political post. This is a post about people, real people who are grateful, so very grateful, for a chance to build a new life with their children. 

"I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me." Matthew 25:35