The air hung thick inside the little apartment as we all gathered inside--seven Americans and a vacillating number of Burmese women and children who scurried about the apartment in a whirling haste. As we slid off our shoes, smiling uplifted faces greeted our own and beckoned us to sit upon the thatched mat rolled across the living room floor. Our hosts graciously laid before us their favorite holiday meal: noodles covered with a spice-laden, quail egg soup and topped with garlic sauce, green onions and cilantro, soy sauce, fried corn cakes and an extremely spicy ground dried pepper. I have been completely humbled by the lavish generosity of these people we have come to call friends. When we are invited to dine in their homes, they insist upon serving us and assure that they will eat later. I wonder if there truly is food, at least of the same kind and quality, “for later”… Kids scurry to hand out water bottles to all of us interns sitting cross-legged on the floor and to find fans with which to laboriously cool us as we enjoy the meal. As we leave the apartment, a little girl runs up and hands us her last piece of gum and apologizes that she doesn’t have one for each of us.
The fact that it is not merely the adults, but also the children who serve so wholeheartedly has caused me to ponder. How is it that those who have so little can be delighted to give away what they have? They spend hours preparing a meal so expensive and labor-intensive that it is normally only eaten for special celebrations-all for people who they scarcely know. What they may not realize, is that what touches my heart at a level much deeper than the delicious feast they prepare, are the dancing sparkles that light their eyes and the smile-lines that deepen on their faces as we mime conversations. These people truly possess servant’s hearts. They give, not out of duty or obligation, but a true desire to bless others. It is as though they possess a deeper understanding of what it truly is to live than I. Perhaps after fleeing danger and spending years in refugee camps, they have come to know a deeper truth of life than I in my security can grasp. Living amongst these families has caused me to ruminate on what it truly means to have a generous spirit. I find myself wanting to become a person who gladly shares my blessings, no matter how great or small, with those around me, regardless of how well I know them or whether or not they actually even dire need what I am able to offer. When one accepts an internship to work with refugees, she naturally assumes that she will be working to serve these newly arrived individuals, but already I have encountered that the opposite also occurs: the refugees are helping me, also a newly arrived individual to Nashville, to feel as though I have a community and a home here. As our opposite worlds meld on this common ground, we witness the truth that no matter what the culture, language past, that the human spirit supersedes them all. --Jenna
