Two things I Learned from Breaking My Arm
Lesson #1
I remember somersaulting, but what I remember most clearly is looking down at my arm and knowing it looked very wrong.
I was already standing again, don't ask me how, and the panic was setting in fast. Was that bus coming towards me or had the bus driver stopped for his break? Did I still have Roo?
It had taken a split second for me to transform from woman taking dog for leisurely bike ride to woman screaming at strangers for help.
I somehow found my way out of the middle of the intersection with Roo, who hadn't bolted. The woman I had locked eyes with as soon as it happened brought my bike to the side of the road. My friend Ruth Anne, who had been at the ball diamond with me just minutes before, stopped and sat with me while Dan sped over. I was utterly panicked, staring at my arm until Ruth Anne told me to look away so I wouldn't toss my cookies.
Some rational corner of my brain thought, "This is not who I thought I'd be in a situation like this." Somehow I thought I'd be more chill. Less blubbering, more shock-induced efficiency. Which is pretty funny in retrospect, because my arm was broken in several places, my elbow was dislocated, and I had obviously given my head a good whack against the pavement, which I did not realize til later.
The woman who had heard my first frenzied screams apparently also had a hard time adjusting to the rapid shift of her role from woman walking her kids to the ball diamond to bystander facing down a panicked stranger, because she left as quickly as she had come, with a hastily offered apology.
Now that I'm through those first weeks after my rapid identity shift to a temporarily one-armed and drugged version of myself, the rupture of those first moments feels less stark. I've laid in hospital waiting for surgery, had surgery, watched so much Netflix while waiting for the pain to subside, and returned home to figure out how to type with my left hand and open the peanut butter jar by gripping it between my knees.
I can't help but think of the refugee experience. I know people often struggle with the label "refugee"--one day, one moment, they were an average person, with a community, a life, things that gave them meaning and a sense of identity.
And then the bombs fell.
And then the gang came looking for new recruits.
And then the abuse began.
And then the night-time arrests of dissidents started.
And then the country unravelled.
And, sometimes in a moment, it happens: they're a refugee.
Maybe they respond in ways they didn't expect. Maybe those around them respond or don't respond. They're suddenly associated with whatever positive or negative feelings people happen to hold about this huge group of people, unified only by having to flee: refugees. The rug has been pulled out, and they're doing their darnedest to respond to a new reality, far more jarring than the sudden and temporary loss of the use of a limb.
And, depending on how long their journey is from danger to a Canadian border office, that's often when we meet people at Open Homes Hamilton, right in the middle of that vortex.
Lesson #2
If you want to know how strong your community is, just break your arm.
From visiting me in the hospital to offering to wash my hair, from taking Roo for a day to bringing us fruit, from getting mad with me when surgery was cancelled yet again to bringing baby wipes, shampoo, and “headphones to make the hospital a more hospitable place to be, our community has shown up for Dan and I in ways great and small. As my favourite Mary Jo Leddy poem reads, "We walk on the waters of gratitude."
I feel like God could have taught me (yet again) that I'm not a stalwart individual, facing down the world on my own, in a different way than shattering my humerus, but I do hope that I can hold on to this deep, grateful awareness of interdependence. It feels like freedom.
That is what I want for refugee claimants. Even more than housing, welcoming refugees into communities of belonging and mutual support is what Open Homes is about.
When I'm really dreaming, I dream that Open Homes can show us all the way home. I dream that we can learn, both refugee claimants and those of us who have been here a bit longer, that we need each other. That our stories are already woven together, that we don't have to do it all, and that that is good news. Perhaps even Good News.
You can be praying for…
-My search for an organizational home: It has been a long and frustrating process looking for an organization to affiliate myself with so that I can fundraise and issue tax receipts. Since we haven't decided to pursue charitable status for Open Homes itself quite yet (long story), since that would mean pausing our placements for a time, I needed another option...
And I think I may have found it! I applied to an organization this week that is very much in line with my values and whose staff have a lot of refugee experience (some as refugees themselves and some from working with refugee claimants). Please pray that this arrangement works out, or if it's not the right fit, that both the organization and I would know that soon.
-Our guests: from Mali, Sudan, Yemen, Colombia. Pray that they would receive prompt hearing dates, have good legal representation, be able to gather the exhaustive list of documents that they need to prove that they are refugees, experience a sense of safety and community with their hosts and companions, etc.
-Our Open Homes team: We need discernment as we lay the foundations for something that we pray will be truly transformative. Every decision, great or small, matters.