As Welcoming as a Refugee

I slip off my shoes and add them to the pile outside the door of the small apartment. Stepping into a modest living room, I’m greeted by the noise of women’s chatter and the sweet aroma of bakhoor smoldering on a clay incense burner.

Before sitting down, I go around planting three or four kisses on each woman’s cheek.

My neighbor Hana invited me to join this social group for refugee women. They welcome me wholeheartedly and astonish me with their hospitality, taking turns hosting our weekly get-togethers. This week we’re in Rahima’s home.

After everyone arrives, Rahima carries in a serving tray with teacups and a kettle. She serves the sweet black tea and places tiny glass bowls of mixed nuts within easy reach of all her guests. 

I plant three or four kisses on each woman’s cheek.

Our conversation touches on topics like children and pregnancy, marriages, neighbors, war, and life as refugees. Lighter subjects cause us to laugh and smile. Weightier matters are couched in short invocations: God, have mercy.

As the last sips of tea go down, Rahima’s sister Mariam returns with tabbouleh salad and a platter of kibbeh, a mixture of cracked wheat, goat meat, and spices. A woman named Layla tells me how her landlord is forcing her and her three young daughters to move out and find a new home. She welcomes my prayer in Jesus’ name, and I ask God to guide her family to a new home. 

Over baklava, fruit, and coffee, our friend Fatin tells everyone about the sad news she received the day before: Her home in Syria was bombed. Throughout the Syrian civil war, Fatin’s family had held onto the hope of someday returning to their home. It contained all their possessions—furniture, appliances, clothing. Now all that is gone.

But the worst part is the death of the young family, Fatin’s relatives, who were staying in the home.

Her home in Syria was bombed.

Sadness descends on the room. These women are well-acquainted with sorrow. As refugees from a ravaged nation, they can’t seem to escape grief for long. This is the reality they live in.

Soon enough, the conversation turns. Then it’s time to go. We decide who’ll host next week’s gathering and fish our shoes from the pile at the front door.

But as I leave, I can’t shake my grief over Fatin’s news.

Please join me in praying for refugees to know the generosity of God through the hope and healing of Jesus Christ.

• Pray that strong Muslim women like Mariam, Hana, Fatin, Layla, and Rahima will embrace the Gospel and find healing for their sorrows in Christ.
• Pray for field workers who live and serve among refugees to find open doors to share the Good News.
• Pray for more teams to go and serve refugees and to introduce them to the unfading hope of the Gospel.