Experience in Hell? Check.

Today I spent a morning at the Center doing paperwork of all kinds. When I fill out forms, I inevitably learn something about the names I am entering. They come from everywhere. Cuba. Eritrea. Rwanda.

My eyes settled on that last one, and of course, Hotel Rwanda sprang into my mind. I started thinking about what horrors this family had come from, what their story might be. Each form represented a person or family who had a past that caused them to be miserable enough to leave everything familiar and come to what is foreign and scary. People who just want a better life for their children, or a chance to be something other than a statistic in a refugee camp or on a death toll list.

In the afternoon, out and about, I was able to meet part of a family whose medical bills I had been sorting out with the hospital this morning. I learned that Dad had been hit by shrapnel from gunfire in the head, and now suffers from seizures, headaches, and lower functioning. This is another family who had lived through a hell I have no firsthand experience with.

I hope that all the people who provide refugees with services are patient and kind, realizing the kind of strength and tenacity standing before them. My experience is that people receiving some sort of government "handout" are seen as a burden, with no useful skills. But there are no boxes to check on any forms that say, "escaped with my life." One of the men whose name I was putting on forms earned a bachelor's degree. He will consider himself fortunate if he gets a job as a janitor in a turkey processing factory here. It is good for those of us who work with such populations to remember that these are not simply people with a whole lot of needs. These are people who have made it through sets of circumstances we cannot imagine and still possess a will to learn a new life, to work hard, to pursue a future. That deserves respect.