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Beauty on the Backroads

Stories of grace for life's unexpected turns

syrian refugees

The everyday power of friendship: Review of Once We Were Strangers by Shawn Smucker

October 17, 2018

Does friendship matter? Can it change the world? What does it mean to be a friend?

This new book about a Lancaster, Pa. native and a Syrian refugee who resettled to the area addresses these questions in an honest story of making time and room for people in our busy lives.

Once We Were Strangers: What Friendship with a Syrian Refugee Taught Me About Loving My Neighbor by Shawn Smucker isn’t overtly dramatic or adventurous and friendship between these two men might not seem like anything significant. But that’s exactly why it’s the perfect book for the times we live in. Shawn doesn’t set out to “save” his friend Mohammed from his circumstances, and the world doesn’t noticeably shift because of their relationship. But these two men are changed, and how their relationship developed is accessible to all of us. We can all befriend someone with whom we have nothing in common simply by showing up and listening. (And repeating that process often.)

Back to those questions I posed at the beginning of this post.

What does it mean to be a friend? Shawn talks honestly about this, how he doesn’t feel like a good friend to Mohammed, how on their first meeting, Mohammed considered them friends. I’ve experienced this firsthand with refugees in our area. They call us “friends” on first meeting, and it’s humbling. It challenges our western notions that friendship is earned. This book reminds us that friendship can be a gift we give each other, no strings attached.

Does friendship matter? Can it change the world? You could read this book and say, “No. It makes no difference in the world. Nothing fundamentally changed in the world.” We’re still divided in this country about whether people from other countries, especially those fleeing violence and persecution, are welcome in our country. We’re still afraid of people whose skin color is different, whose native language is different, whose practice of religion is different.

But I would say that friendship absolutely matters and it might not change the world in ways we can see immediately, but it has a forever impact on the people involved. Shawn’s and Mohammed’s lives will never be the same because they met and continued to meet over strong coffee, sometimes late at night. Their children will be changed by their friendship. Their communities will be better because they were willing to step across a divide that whispered “you can’t be friends with him.”

This is a story of slow change, steady presence, and continual showing up. It’s not necessarily exciting work, but it is the good and necessary work of a society that sees the other as enemy.

If you can’t imagine ever becoming friends with Syrian refugee, I encourage you to read this book. If you don’t understand why people flee their home countries, I encourage you to read this book. The chapters about Mohammed’s family’s exit from Syria are some of the hardest to read. If you fully support the resettlement of refugees in the United States, I encourage you to read this book.

Disclosure: I read an advance copy of the book courtesy of Bake Publishing Group. Review reflects my honest opinion.

Filed Under: books, Non-fiction, Refugees Welcome, The Weekly Read Tagged With: baker publishing group, friendship, memoir, refugee resettlement, shawn smucker, syrian refugees, We Welcome Refugees

What to do when you don't know what to do

September 8, 2015

I’m feeling a lot of emotions these days. Some of them generated from the life in front of me–kids who won’t listen, worries about the future, fear about the past–and some from situations that are beyond my control and beyond my geography. I went to Africa this summer. It’s been a month since we came home. And the feelings I’m feeling now are tied to the things I saw there and then.

When I read about the refugee crisis affecting Syria and see the pictures of people longing for a home without violence and fear, I want to turn away. I want to get on with my life. Yet I also want to step in and do something. But even as I sit and read the article, there are people in my own home who are fighting over a toy or asking for food. There are needs out there and there are needs in here and I don’t know how to reconcile the two. Maybe that’s the problem. I’m trying to compartmentalize them. I want the time to take care of my family to be separate from the time I need to care about world issues. Maybe what I need is not reconciliation but some kind of intersection. A way to incorporate my cares for the world with the cares of my family.

—

Fifteen of us went to Africa and almost all of us, I think, want to fix something about what we saw and experienced. We want to do something. We want to change something. We were changed and that’s significant, but there are so many things to do. How do we choose?

The same day I read about Syria, I read this post, too, and it was an encouraging push to do something, whether it’s for Africa or Syria or my neighborhood. Even if it looks like the wrong thing to others, I can still do something. It’s the first part of that statement that scares me because I don’t like to be wrong. But would I rather be wrong and do something or do nothing because I’m afraid of being wrong?

I’m ready to do something.

I’ve written before that my writing is one way of doing something, and I’m still going to do that. But I want to take it another step forward.

In Kenya, we met people whose lives were disrupted by violence, whose homes and livelihoods were destroyed in a bid for power. They were refugees in their own country.

mud home

Their struggle is real. I looked at their faces and into their eyes. I walked into their dark one-room houses. For one part of one day, I entered the life of someone on the other side of the world, and though I offered prayer and encouragement, the words practically stuck in my throat because they sounded so hollow. Who was I to stand in that woman’s house and pray for provision? What she needed for a more secure house is what I pay monthly in rent. Let that sink in for a minute.

I know I can’t save the world. I’m not going to try. That sounds big and overwhelming.

But I can look at my life and consider what I have and what I can give. And I can do the next right thing.

—

In Kenya we also met a man who heard about the need in the valley, who knew that there were people living in tents in an unfamiliar place. He went there to see what he could do. They asked him to preach, and even though he wasn’t a preacher, he started preaching on Sundays for them. They met under an acacia tree. They became known as the tree church.

That was years ago. We worshipped with the people of the tree church in a building in the refugee camp when we were in Kenya. Because this man wanted to do something and then actually did it, there is a church building where people come for miles to give thanks to God for their very lives. Because this man went where he felt led, the children can count on one good meal every week. And he dreams of more things he can do, with God’s help, for the people.

So, I will take my one step forward. And I will let God take it from there.

It is a small step. Tiny really. But it’s something.

And I’d rather do something than nothing.

Today, I sent off a volunteer application to work with a local organization that helps resettle refugees in our area. This is not even a humble brag because it feels like nothing, but it’s something I was thinking about before Kenya and it has only grown stronger in my heart and mind.

That’s my “yes” today. Yours might look different.

And click here for an excellent resource if you want to do something to help Syrian refugees but don’t know what to do.

Filed Under: faith & spirituality, Kenya, missions Tagged With: do something, internally displaced people, kenya, mission work, syrian refugees, volunteer work

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Photo by Rachel Lynn Photography

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Hi. I’m Lisa, and I’m glad you’re here. If we were meeting in real life, I’d offer you something to eat or drink while we sat on the porch letting the conversation wander as it does. That’s a little bit what this space is like. We talk about books and family and travel and food and running, whatever I might encounter in world. I’m looking for the beauty in the midst of it all, even the tough stuff. (You’ll find a lot of that here, too.) Thanks for stopping by. Stay as long as you like.

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