Strangers ... or my Neighbors?

Egypt. Syria. Iraq. Iran. Jordan. What do you feel when you hear of those places ... when you pick up a newspaper, and see a photo of a crowd of nameless Syrians holding signs scrawled with unreadable Arabic script? When your friend gets deployed overseas to some far-off land that is only a hard-to-pronounce name to you? What about when your new neighbor moves in next door, and you discover that they're refugees from Iraq, fleeing war and turmoil?

Maybe you have had a experience like I have. Maybe you were a typical American, living the typical American life, sitting in your far-removed living room watching bombs drop on some country that you never knew existed before.  Maybe you were like me - a 10 yr. old, watching the destruction on television. Maybe, like me, you thought the orange flashes that lit up the night sky over Baghdad were nothing more than that - pretty light in a dark night.

Until you realized that it was not a pretty light. It was no fireworks display. It was war. And war means death. It means lives, torn by loss. People who would never again see the sun rise. Fathers, taken from their wife and children. Suddenly, those streaks of light seemed so senseless.

I remember lying in bed at night, seeing those light flashes when I closed my eyes. Seeing the pleading eyes of the Iraqi children. Thinking of Iraqi fathers not unlike my own. I remember running into a Middle Eastern family at the local WalMart.  I remember distinctly the fear in their eyes as they interacted with my people - knowing that my people were at war with their people.

Yeah, I was really young. I didn't know much. But I prayed a prayer back then that I have never stopped praying - "Oh God, when I'm old enough, send me over there! I want to help those people!"

I think we too easily let distance, lack of knowledge or fear put a barrier between us and the nations ... and our international neighbors. Specifically our Middle Eastern neighbors.

Did you ever stop to think how it would feel to be in their shoes? To be dropped into a nation whose language you cannot understand, whose culture is shockingly different, whose clothing is scandalous compared to what you are accustomed to? What if you couldn't read the labels on the various food products? What if you weren't certain what kind of currency use, or what the monetary value was of each bill? What if riding the bus was the biggest hurdle you could imagine crossing?

That Middle Eastern family you just walked past on the street - they're living here because they were hunted like dogs in their own nation. They have very few friends in America. They've caught every flu and cold since they moved to the U.S., and so have missed alot of their English classes. They are ashamed of their inability to understand or to communicate in English. They would be delighted to have a friend who they know truly loves them - in spite of their poor English.

Those strange-looking ladies two blocks down - the ones with the headscarves - they're living in America, seeking higher education. One is married and has three little children who demand her attention. Recently their homeland was at war. All of the resources they had to their name were suddenly unavailable, as the leader of their nation froze all assets, and though they diligently worked two jobs at night, it was not enough to pay tuition. Nor to provide sufficient food for the family.  They were desperate. They had never experienced this sort of difficulty before. They didn't know where to turn. They felt very alone in this strange country.

Story after story after story, of people ... refugees, immigrants ... real people with real lives, with real pain, and real needs. I think we need to throw our lives into their lives - be willing to hurt with them, be willing to risk being misunderstood, be willing to give our time and our money. The world is at our doorstep - oh Lord, give us Your eyes, and let us see the world around us like You do!