I can recognize my son’s face in any crowd. In a photo of twenty children, where the tops of heads are all I see, I know which curly-haired head is my little goofball. When I pick him up from preschool, my eyes take a hot second to peek in and recognize his sneakers and know that’s my boy.
My eyes broke my heart this week. I saw my boy when I saw the beach of Bodrum.
I spent last night broken about these families. Broken. Hearted. I know this refugee crisis has a million faces and has been going on for much longer than this fifteen minutes of attention the media has given it. You can know all that, and remain unaffected. And then you can see your boy. And it leaves you undone.
That’s what it takes, I suppose. This author is 100 percent right in saying, “they would have just been four more faces in the tide of humanity that has crossed the frontiers of Europe and the West this year.” They are no longer four more faces. They are mine and yours. The tide of humanity just rolled right up to my door in Macon, Georgia.
If I recognize this boy, I also recognize this father. I cannot think of much that my husband and I would do differently than this family if we were in such a desperate place. I would tell my story through sobs, too. This Dad, Abdullah Kurdi, says, “The first [son] died and I left him so I could help the other, then the second died, so I left him as well to help his mom and I found her dead. … what do I do. … I spent three hours waiting for the coast guard to come. The life jackets we were wearing were all fake.”
His voice is shattered with sobs as he grieves for his lost sons and wife.
My voice is not shattered.
My voice is here.
So, even though it seems small and insignificant and unlikely to stop the tide, we have some things we can do. Small things. But you can do them with me.
I am reposting these ways to help, taken from thebrowntribe.net
I saw my boy in these faces. What do you see? What will you do?
All the links to help are here: 8 Ways to Help Refugees a World Away
More from Erin Robinson Hall
Palm Branches
They held palm branches. Little hands, raised high among the gathered people held symbols of peace and protest. We wanted them to walk. We sang along as they enacted the gospel story. Palm Sunday tradition had them marching and laying their branches at the foot of a reasonably-sized cross. The children of our church waving palm branches. We read the scripture about people who marched with palms. “When he entered Jerusalem, the whole city was in turmoil, asking, ‘Who is this?’” A city in turmoil reaches my heart today. One week ago, I was meeting on Zoom with my team, who calls Nashville home. My friend Eileen got a text from her daughter and froze. “It’s a school shooting.” Silence fell. A pause that held the question we parents ask these days: Did this latest shooting reach my child? She breathed and we realized, not this one. A school nearby, down the road. We learned that another team member has family in The Covenant School. They escaped, not physically harmed. Fear, anxiety, and grief washed through us. Within hours, my social media feeds filled with ads for bullet-proof notebooks and classroom walls that transform into bunkers. Bullet-proof barriers for sale, the commodification of our nightmares. The market is ready to respond. Stock prices on guns shoot up, while I stifle an honest Lenten confession: I want the power to protect my family. I need something in my hand so no harm can touch my children. One week later, a walk out is planned. At 10:13 am, the time the school shooting began, thousands of students across Nashville walked out....Watch the Clouds
Today, we loaded up our little circus and took a drive. The kids had a school holiday, and we planned a little fun out of the house. Didn’t matter that the weather forecast screamed “stay home” or that the clouds tried to warn us. We packed enough snacks for this crew and drove to see the animals at Dauset Trails. In our family, this is a week for celebrating adventures. We are celebrating our “Coming Home Day” tomorrow, the day we brought our kids home. Adventure in the rain felt just right for this morning, and we had fruit snacks, so why not? Halfway into our drive, the sky opened up and rain began to pour. I watched the older kids’ faces. Logan, our oldest son, whispered, “Does this mean we got in the car and came all this way for nothing?” Disappointment doesn’t always go over well with this crew. I said, “Nope. It does not mean that at all, buddy. It means . . . Disney Rules! Now, you watch the clouds.” He grinned and knew exactly what I meant. My husband forgot this particular Disney Rule, but trusted that I could avoid the whining and tears for a while with this plan. We adore Disney World, and the first time my husband and bio son Logan went to Disney, I laid out my “rules.” There are many, all brilliant. The one about rain and storms, I will share. It goes like this. When it storms at Disney, as it does every afternoon, you do not leave the park. You do not hide away in a store...I Brave
Deep waters, flames, and fears have come before. They will probably come again. But the narrative I want my child to have, and the narrative I hope to voice continually for myself and for my family is this: Fear doesn’t win. We are strong. And just in case we’re not brave enough, we will be brave for each other.
Thank you for sharing and getting the word out about ways to help!