Warning: Compulsive Grammarians will be offended by the following:
Let’s just get this straight. Politically, I am too lazy to be properly informed and don’t offer opinions, as I’m afraid of being “fullonfacebookignorant”. I don’t have time to read the news comprehensively, so I’m afraid of getting ahold of the wrong end of the stick. My default state is pretending I don’t have my head in the sand.
Last November, I chose to write-in my vote. Not throwing it away, but hoping that there were enough of us to bring both candidates down to percentages that didn’t represent a majority, so that neither could become president. (Yes. That is a real thing.) Mickey and I were not enough.
America elected a president who invited the Statue of Liberty to take a seat.
Millions of refugees had roamed the earth while we had plenty of space and a lame duck president. When something could, finally, get done, it was a knee-jerk, face-slap. Hundreds or possibly even thousands with legitimate sponsorship and professional credentials, were locked out. Families were separated; their loved ones left without legal status in any countries.
God brought me face to face with my own #refugeestatus
The Bible calls me a sojourner. A refugee.
I walked away from my home, my status, my community, my history, my heritage. Choosing life over clinging to these things (Phil 3). Choosing to roam, knowing I’m loved somewhere and will be reunited with my brothers and sisters, someday; rather than, dying in my own kingdom.
I don’t know what a day may bring. I have to sleep with my shoes on. Periodically, I have contact with far-flung brothers and sisters. Joy and pain, and broken bread.
I’m on my way home. I’ll fling my bag on the entry floor. Eat my fill and change my robe. And crawl up in Daddy’s lap. To rest.
In the meantime, it’s not about me. It’s about the heart of the God who sees. He saw Hagar and Ishmael laying their heads on stones for pillows. And he sees her grandchildren. (Genesis 16:9-15; 21:8-21). It’s about a cup of cool water for the least of these (Matt 25:35-40).
See you back at the house. (1 Peter 2:9-12)
*Inset: Emma Lazarus, whose poem, “The New Colossus” was immortalized at the foot of the Statue**, in which she refers to as ‘The Mother of Exiles’.
**“Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”