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with Kathleen Gibson June 25, 2008 This Canada Day, remember our newcomers �We�re letting too many immigrants in,� I hear frequently. And not without reason have foreigner and enemy become synonyms in the minds of some. What saddens me is that somewhere along the way, too many of us have relinquished the holy art of small acts of hospitality�the same hospitality often shown our own ancestors on their arrival in Canada. New Canadians frequently enter our country with fraying hearts, lonely and much in need of understanding. A black woman with the sweet face of a Madonna reminded the Preacher and I of that recently, and of the importance of listening. We hadn�t met Jerusha* before, but her story emerged as we talked. �I�ll graduate from nursing in a few weeks,� she said. �I�m eager to finish. My children need me.� �How many do you have?� we asked. �Four. All under five.� I could barely manage two as a full-time mom�her feat amazed me. �I couldn�t have done it without God,� she added. Wanting to ensure a better future, her husband had encouraged her studies. �But it has been very hard. I am ready to stop awhile after I graduate. My children are small; they need their mother. I�ve had very little time for them.� Sadness skittered across her face like a passing shadow. �Do you still have family in Africa?� I asked, suspecting. Caught by a gust of empathy, her words tumbled out. She had many siblings. Primitive conditions haunted her home village. Tiredness had dogged her mother. �She had no time, all she did was work. She never took a break, never.� Jerusha had missed home dreadfully after she immigrated to Canada, and her mother had pined for her. Eager to reconnect, to give her mother a few weeks respite, to let her hold her grandbabies, Jerusha and her husband arranged for a visit to Canada. Mere days before her mother�s scheduled arrival, Jerusha learned that the woman who had given her life, raised and loved her, passed on every good thing in her power, then stoically farewelled her as she left for a better life; the woman she ached to embrace again�that woman was dead. She�d been dead for several weeks. Years later, Jerusha has not learned what caused her mother�s death, though she�s certain of the contributing factors: ignorance and poor health facilities in the rural part of Africa that grew her up. Grief is a long debt, and it must be paid. Jerusha has carried its burden, her own frenetic schedule allowing only minute installments. We saw them�tears, round as fat raindrops, rolling unchecked down her exquisite face as she spoke. �Jerusha, may we pray with you?� the Preacher asked. She nodded. We joined hands, and together talked to the God of all nations, who sees all, knows all, and holds the perspective we lack. When she left us, she smiled. One of the marks of a Christ-follower is how well he emulates Christ in welcoming strangers. This Canada Day, remember our newcomers. �2008 Kathleen Gibson Respond Home |
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