When we meet for the first time, acute alertness pulses through her mannerisms. She sits with her knees pressed together and her back stiff and straight against the chair. One arm drapes across her abdomen almost gripping her midsection. Her other hand balances a fork. She pokes at her plate rearranging its contents, rarely taking a bite.
Her eyes are wide and blinking as she looks back and forth between the unfamiliar Americans in the room. Occasionally she scans the interpreter looking for clues.
Is it safe? Who are these people? What is the point here?
The interpreter smiles as her words brush through the air comforting the newcomers. She welcomes them to share their stories. Switching languages, her same relaxed smile and easy speech engages the Americans.
We lean in. Initially, generalizations backpack our thoughts toward these women. But soon their stories dismantle stereotypes.
Many eyes in the room leak in silence. We grieve with our new friends for what they lost. We try to imagine how they feel . It’s impossible.
A few weeks earlier my new friend and her family fled her home country. She staggered into our neighborhood propelled by fear and haunted by trauma. She and many families like hers scramble to secure a hope-filled future for their children.
Her narrative is similar to those found in heinous historical novels. Although we recline in padded chairs, we stir with restlessness. Her despair lingers in the silence between sentences. The storyline consumes us.
Although I can’t identify with the facts of her story, I connect with her as a woman and a mother.
We lunch together often that year sharing our cultures and families with one another.
A year later my friend shares her story with a new crowd of women. They arrived just like she did. Each new neighbor slouches under the weight of her own autobiographical tale of trauma.
But this time my friend has another chapter to add.
She continues. “Those lunches were like therapy to me. We finally found a safe place to land. Our American friends really care. We are people and they see us for who we are.”
At first, I didn’t believe I had anything to give my friend. She suffered trauma I couldn’t comprehend. But several shared lunches brought moments of comfort and the hints of hope she needed to begin again. I only listened sharing my table and my friendship with her. It wasn’t much on my part, but God planned to reproduce it.
Today she comforts new friends arriving in our neighborhoods.
Hope is multiplying. Mothers and children are dreaming for a new future.
If you are unsure if your unseen life can make a difference, you are not alone.
Maybe, like me, you don’t have a ton of resources to meet the needs of the vulnerable and marginalized in your community. If you have a kitchen table and a cup of tea you have more than enough.
Give your tiny resource to God. Welcome others to your table. He will multiply his kingdom through it in ways you never imagined.
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During a severe famine in 1 Kings 17:7-24, we are introduced to a widow who has enough grain and oil to make one more meal. Elijah asked her to share it with him. Although the widow was afraid, she did it anyway. (1 Kings 17:7-24)
God took that one meal and kept multiplying it. The flour never finished, and the last glug of oil never dried up.
Earlier in the story, God tells Elijah, “Go… I have commanded a widow in that place to supply you with food.” (1 Kings 17:9)
The Hebrew word for command means –to lay a charge upon–to order.
Notice God didn’t command the widow directly. Instead, Elijah spoke to the widow about his need. The needs represented by those around us are God’s commision showing up in our lives.
Sometimes, however, all the need in our community overwhelms us, and we don’t know where to begin. Take a moment. Listen to your heart.
Which need speaks the most to you? Feed that one need.
Be Creative. Have fun with it!
Need Suggestions?
1. Invite a neighbor for coffee or lunch. (Try inviting someone different than you.)
2. Send a fruit basket to the girls at the local strip club. Sign the card. “You are loved. From: Your Neighbors.”
3. Bring dinner to a single mom. Or invite her over with her kids.
Remember: Like the widow, you are already commissioned to others in your community. Respond to the need in front of you.
I can’t wait to hear what God does in your life. Share your “lunch” experiences in the comments.
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