Each day is packed with surprises this week. I have seen Jesus appear in the most unexpected places.
In Myint Mu’s small living room, watching the boys nearly bounce off the walls, competing with each other to speak most clearly and loudly the English words they know and understand--in Pablo, the toughest cookie in Allison Hill, as he expresses gladness at the new family’s arrival--in the simple acts of hospitality that so richly mark the Southeast Asian cultures I’ve only experienced a little--in the way our newest family refuses the beds they have and sleeps on a large mound of blankets and pillows in the middle of the floor together--in the way the three-year-old laughs and hisses and cackles at people and his father scoops him up and teases him--the way the oldest daughter smiles and practices her English “hello”, “thank you”, “please, sit down”, “I love you”--the way Myint Mu’s boys call my name from the window of their apartment “Miss DesiRAH”.
I am in two world’s this week--the first where I sleep in a small house on Lisburn Road, where I am a pseudo-student and share everything with my six sisters, the second where I graciously receive the awkward, funny, lost-in-translation experiences I have with my new Burmese friends, leaving behind any agenda, schedule, or sense of time.
Earlier this week, I shared some quiet moments with the new family. Myint Mu came along to interpret and we learned more about each other. Now that their bellies are filled, their sleep is being normalized, and they are starting to recognize places in Harrisburg, we have reached a point where we can start to know each other. Ha Sin, the father, looked at me and very somberly told me that he, as a faithful Muslim, had prayed to Allah to provide for his family friends to help them get adjusted to their lives in America. Apparently, we are the answer to his prayers. I, too, shared with him that I am a Christian and God had answered mine in bringing us together and told him about how our scriptures tell us to take care of strangers and extend hospitality and give to those who have little. He seemed interested in the differences and similarities of our religions. “God is happy with you,” Myint Mu translated. “I think God is happy that we can all be friends here and support each other,” I responded. Everyone agreed.
Yesterday, I had the privilege to take my new friends to the halal market nearby to buy some meat and select spices. It smelled like coriander, ginger, and curry in the store and I inspected several bags of spices to see if I could identify them. Nyi Nyi wanted to play, his older brother wanted Myint Mu to buy snacks, and I watched the exchange between Myint Mu and the store worker.
“He is very good man,” she explained. Singing along in Arabic to music through the radio, he carefully measured out slabs of meat on the scale and packaged them. After we were finished, he reached behind the counter and passed out mango juice to each of us, explaining that he really wants to help refugees in any way that he can. When he tallied up the price for the meat, Ha Sin started to hand him cash. “I won’t accept this. I will put this on store credit and after he gets food stamps, come back and we will transfer the credit, okay?” Meaning we can walk away with $60 worth of meat and not pay until later. Wow. What generosity, trust, and humanity. I saw Jesus' special concern for the poor foreigners in Mahmoud.
