Dear friend,
When Jesus
introduced me to you in 2012, it wrecked me. I cried the whole way home on the
airplanes. I almost flunked out of statistics because I couldn’t focus. I wrote
poems and poems and poems. Most of them weren’t any good. I sat in the little
chapel on campus so many mornings and afternoons, just listening to the silence
and remembering you.
When we went to
visit the Nyirbator “detention” center, it wrecked me. I didn’t know what to
expect and when we walked through those bars, I saw you, undeserving of
punishment, and it wrecked me.
When you said
you were just going to go back to your home country because being here was even
worse, it wrecked me.
When you came to
English class with a busted lip, when we sat in the sunset and shared nutella
and you said you had lost your father while walking over the mountains, it
wrecked me.
When you said
your family lived in a different country but you couldn’t get to them, when
they told the story of how you had left your children behind, when you held
that baby, when you were so hungry to learn, when you told me I was the best
teacher you had ever had, when Sarah heard your scream, when you bought your
daughter an ice cream cone, when you brought us sweet bread even though you
were fasting, when your daughter sat under the table eating playing cards
because she was hungry, it wrecked me.
When you pulled
us out onto that tiny dance floor, Bollywood music bouncing and sticky summer
air, you invited me into beauty, into life. When you looked defiantly into my
eyes and told me who I was, you challenged my perception of love. And you
became a dear friend, even if we never spoke outside of class. I still pray for
you. I still ask God to keep you safe. I still wonder where you are. I still
count you as my brother.
When you invited
us to explore the woods with you, far past our bedtimes, it filled my soul with
laughter. When you played endless foosball matches accompanied by Valy’s music,
I knew we were in. When you came to class every day, just you, even though we
weren’t your culture and that was hard for everyone, when you fed us watermelon
and tea, you honored me.
You wrecked me,
and yet, I was full. I still am, from being with you, from knowing you. When I
remember you, I laugh, because knowing you was always a privilege, it was the
greatest gift.
In the wreckage,
there is wholeness.
Being with you,
I became.
And now, they
say you are not welcome in my home. Then, I will not claim it as my home. Because
you are always welcome in my Father’s heart. You are always welcome in this
Family.
Because your
presence taught me how to live well. Because I never want to live in a world
where you are not celebrated.
They say they do
not want you. It’s not you they don’t want. They don’t want to be wrecked,
because they do not yet understand that in the wreckage, there is joy.
Always praying,
never giving up hope, love always,
me
