Longing

Like many of you I have been riveted by the news of the unprovoked attack and devastation of Ukraine. The irrational lust for power by a despot sitting in his guarded and protected ostentatious place of power while civilians and military face death is mind-boggling. Each news report brings stories that are heart wrenching. Thankfully there are also stories that are heart warming. The stories of the bombing and violence are devastating. But the stories that have emerged of kindness and human compassion give hope even in the face of such atrocities.

As many of you know, I have remained very much in the lives of the Syrian family Bracebridge United Church sponsored. They arrived in Canada in March of 2017. Five years ago. These last few days have stirred up memories for them of the war in Syria. The war that they left behind. The war that still flares and devastates their homeland.

I remember in the early days, taking Hassan shopping one day. Berivan was home with one-year-old Pella. He wanted to buy laundry detergent and fabric softener. We went up and down the aisle as he looked for a label, a brand name that was familiar. Seeing none he started opening the different brands and smelling each one. He said he wanted to find one that smelled like what they were used to. It made me cry a little. To think that they had to leave everything, even the familiar scent of clean clothes behind and start out anew with everyday a challenge, every day struggling to adapt, everyday a new encounter.

I remembered their longing for familiar when I listened to the news this morning and heard interviews of the people of Ukraine now landed in neighbouring countries, wondering if their home still stands, wondering if their loved ones are still alive, wondering if they will have a roof over their head and food in their bellies tonight, and above the wondering longing for something that feels and looks and smells familiar. Smells like home. Such a simple but profound longing.

I did laundry today. Tonight, after a hot bath, I will climb into a bed with clean sheets. I will set the alarm and know that there will be a morning and my house will be standing and I will be able to do all the things on my “To Do’ list if I feel like it. Any chaos in my day will be manageable.

The poet, the late Ann Weems wrote, “I no longer pray for peace. On the edge of war, one foot already in, I no longer pray for peace: I pray for miracles.” May we do likewise.