Hosting A Person From A S**t-hole Country
She arrived
as a refugee from Eritrea, a tiny, war depleted African country. Eight months pregnant without any family. Her
language was Tigrinya with a few polite words in English. She needed a place to
live and people to support her. The refugee agency wanted to know if Brad and I
would take her in.
Though I
have worked with refugees since the 80’s and had taken in several male teens to
live with our family, I was hesitant. What
if she was untrustworthy, had unrealistic expectations, or was too needy? What,
I wondered, were her fears and suspicions of us? Brad and I were just starting
a new life after twenty years of living and working in a self-contained service
community. We didn’t have jobs, were unfamiliar with independent living (paying
bills, grocery shopping), and had all our stuff in boxes. Shouldn’t we take some time to adjust to our
new living situation? “Yes!” screamed my
logical head.
But my heart
always speaks louder than my head. And though that sometimes gets me into
trouble, my heart said: She is twenty-five years old, the same age as my kids.
If they were in another country and needed help, wouldn’t I want some family to
take them in? She is a pregnant daughter without a mother; I am a mother
without my children. Couldn’t we find some way to make it work?
So in May 2017, a
week after moving, we opened our home and our lives to Azezet. Yuliya was born
a month later and, like any grandma, filled my heart with joy. Want a wonderful
antidote to stress? Find a baby! After a day of dealing with other people’s
stuff – from monotonous Medicaid frustrations to suicide attempts – I could pick
up this soft, squishy baby, bury my face in her sweetness, and be reminded of the
wisdom and wonder of God creating us fresh and new. Yuliya’s role was to squeal with delight and
tug at my hair.
We had our ‘living together moments’ - don’t bathe the baby
on the new wood floors! – and cultural learning experiences. Once when grocery shopping, Azezet put six
packages of ground beef in the grocery cart. Concerned about our small freezer
space, I shook my head and said, “No. Take three.” Azezet picked up the stack and
handed them to me one at a time emphatically declaring, “Monday, Tuesday,
Wednesday…” And sure enough, this little 85 pound woman managed to eat a pound
of beef a day. For me, “food security”
is a freezer. For Azezet, who had once lived
on one meager meal a day, “food security” meant buying large quantities of food
because it was there, because you don’t know when you will have it again.
In December,
the refugee agency called to say that her husband’s screening process was completed:
he would arrive next week from the refugee camp. Azezet had been waiting for
these words for
almost a year now; but for me, it was too soon, too sudden. We had fallen into
a routine; we had bonded through the birth of Yuliya; we had become family.
Back when we were contemplating accepting Azezet, it had never occurred to me
that it would be harder to let her go than it was to take her in. We had chosen faith over fear and now, eight
months later, all of our lives were better.
We are thankful
for friends who contributed money to pay for a month’s living expenses in their
new apartment. We are thankful for friends who drove Azezet to English classes,
welcomed her in their homes, and dropped by to visit when we were away. We are very grateful to God for giving us the
courage to say “yes” and welcome Christ who was disguised as a poor, pregnant
refugee woman. We pray for God to protect and guide this young family as they
strive to start a new life in a foreign land.
