Never Giving Up

I have never really understood the poem by Emily Dickinson until this year. In 1862 she penned,
Hope is the thing with feathers That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words, And never stops at all,
And sweetest in the gale is heard; And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird That kept so many warm.

The idea of “a thing with feathers” in the soul, was always a curiosity to me. But this year I think I have experienced that.

As many of you know, like other Canadians, a group of us were stirred to action by the picture of the body of that little Syrian boy, Alain, who drowned with his brother as his family made an effort to escape Syria. We decided we had to do something. A team of us put our heads together and put some plans into place, money was raised very quickly. An application was submitted and we were matched to a family of three – mom, dad, infant daughter. Last year, on January 30th I received the first, of what would become a steady stream of emails. In that email Hassan introduced himself and his wife and daughter and attached a photo of them. We all thought they would be here within weeks. We were looking for housing, we were recruiting drivers, we expected them to be on a plane in no time. Little did we know how long the processing and screening takes. The mantra of a refugee could be, ‘hurry up and wait’.

Over the year Hassan and I have kept in regular correspondence through email and video conversations. He feels like a member of the family. My husband and I would sometimes have a video conversation while we were at the table eating lunch and it felt like he was right here with us. The eight hour time difference meant that often as it was the afternoon here they were home in the evening and we could chat and visit. At different times we each became discouraged wondering if the endless wait would come to an end. It was necessary on occasion to buoy each other up. When tragedy continued to strike his homeland and threaten his family he would become despondent. When information from our government was not forthcoming I would become frustrated. It was a seemingly endless year of encouraging one another that the process was working its ponderous way and we would see them in Canada soon.

It felt like something was in my soul, something with feathers, something delicate but persistent, something that would not give up, would not go away, despite the gale of doubt and misgiving. It felt like hope. Hope that one day something good would come of all this. And now it has. Their checks are done, their belongings sold and given away, their suitcases are being packed and their plane tickets are ready. They fly to Toronto next week. We are so grateful.

It has been a long year of waiting. A long year of tested patience and frustrating disappointment but finally hope is singing a new song and next week we will be at the airport to greet these new Canadians. Praise God.