As a semi-retired person who does whatever I want most days, my 7:00am alarm this morning was like a sharp stick in the eye. But, I was on a mission.
I’d received my marching orders from Kathy of Kathy’s Happy Helpers (who’d received hers from Catholic Charities) and was heading out to furnish an apartment for an incoming Syrian refugee family of six.
First stop, fellow Grand Islander Melanie’s house. She’s fun, and we always talk politics, so the trip downtown went quickly as we commiserated about the election.
Second stop, our home goods storage room at the Tri- Main building. This small space, provided by Journey’s End Resettlement Services, is chock-a-block full to the ceiling, and a testament to the generosity in our community.
We collect, store, and eventually disburse everything from china, bedding, wall art, first aid kits, shampoo, and flashlights — to everything in between. The bounty is piled up on neatly labeled shelves.
Grace (our organizational genius) meets us there with a list of things needed for the new home, and we start “pulling,” as in, pulling things off overstuffed shelves, loading up a pallet, and transferring a full load to our vehicles. It is at this time that I question (for the 100th time) the wisdom of my having a dinky Honda Civic, but, it thankfully accommodates what Grace’s SUV does not.
As we approach the apartment on Sherman Street on the East Side, there’s a line of cars belonging to our crew. There’s a bunch of women already waiting on the front porch and down the steps to the sidewalk, and we hand each other boxes from my car like a bucket brigade, up the steps and into the apartment. We’re all smiles, and it makes for quick work.
I know most of these women (men too!) We’ve labored together fixing up and furnishing apartments for refugees over the last three years.
You learn a lot about a person by how they clean a grease- encrusted stove, moldy fridge, or, when they quietly slip out to purchase tin foil, shelf paper, a mop, and a toilet brush on their own dime, or, swing by with lunch for 20 or so hungry volunteers.
These are women (mostly retired professionals) who can imagine what it feels like to be a stranger in a strange land, and want to make it better. These ladies are Catholic, Church of LDS, Jewish, atheist, Quaker — not that that matters. These women are my tribe.
Every one of them greets me with a big, lingering hug — today, the order of the day. We meet each other’s eyes and shake our heads in disbelief. We don’t even have to say it. We are all in shock about what has happened to this country, and who will now lead it. I know we are all thinking the same thing. What will happen to our refugees? What will happen to our planet?
But, we cannot entertain that thought for long. For now, we “chop wood, carry water,” or, in this case, transform a bare, impersonal space into a warm and welcoming home for a family of six from a land we’ll probably never see.
Speaking for myself, I feel just the tiniest bit better, and my tender heart mends just a little. And, you know what? I’d have to say, today was a good day.