Monday, January 30, 2017
On my mission several of the Elders were called to teach the Hmong people. They were refugees to our county because they were being killed in their home land. I was on exchanges one night and went to a dinner appointment at an elderly lady's home. I spoke no Hmong and she spoke no English, so we only spoke through translation of my companion. The dinner was the worst I ever tasted. Some purple rice cooked in some sort of basket with a soy mush. There were chicken feet and a big bowl of broth, that was from the soy stuff, in the middle of the table that we were all supposed to drink out of.
We were there most of the night and she gave me a home made tie and as I was leaving she gave me a Hmong name. I don't recall how you said it, but it meant something like Elder Tiger or maybe it was Squirrel. The details are fuzzy.
Looking back I was touched that a woman would: let a total stranger in her home, feed him the best food she could afford (though little it may be), give him a hand maid tie that took hours of labor, and in every way possible honor and love him.
Refugees have continued from that time forward to have a wonderful impact for good on mine and my families life. They have been a powerful example of love, the pioneer spirit and ability to persevere through the worst this world has to offer. Ree Reh, (Here is an amazing article my brother wrote about him) a deaf, Karen refugee, smiles and gives me a huge hug every time I see him. He like so many truely are lights in, what to me would be, a dark world.
I pray Trump figures out whatever security risk he hopes to find in our process in 90 or 120 days and we can get back to sharing this great gift that is America. For America truely is great, but like all great gifts if hoarded for ourselves will only cankur and rot, but if shared will blossom and grow. And I cannot help but think that to deny them access to our country is only to deny ourselves something much greater.