dinosaurs in the bathroom: 2017

"And thus, in their prosperous circumstances, they did not send away any who were naked, or that were hungry, or that were athirst, or that were sick, or that had not been nourished; and they did not set their hearts upon riches; therefore they were liberal to all, both old and young, both bond and free, both male and female, whether out of the church or in the church, having no respect to persons as to those who stood in need."

Alma 1:30, The Book of Mormon

"It is ...safe... here," he said.
Samer and I had met just moments before. As I was preparing for the Art Expressions class at our local refugee and immigrant office, he and his two children has toddled in, looking relieved to be inside, away from the bitter January chill. My four year old, who has zero inhibitions with strangers (for better or for worse), went right up Samer's young children.
"Hi!" he said with his limitless enthusiasm and complete unawareness of personal space. The kids smiled back and looked at their father unsure how to respond. I approached with a basket of miscellaneous coloring tools and a stack of Hello Kitty coloring pages. I have learned that art, in whatever form, has an incredible way of breaching gaps between people. In this case, my preschooler's desire to interact with kids his age and the language barrier that is ever-present in this unique office.
"Do they want to color?" I asked Semar, motioning my hand with an invisible crayon. He smiled and nodded, speaking to his children in a beautiful and foreign language.
We all sat on the ground encouraging our little ones to color. I asked him about his children, their ages and names, which of course I could barely pronounce and we laughed as I stumbled over the umbs' and ahs'. I introduced my boys, my youngest asleep in the stroller on the other side of the room, and myself.
"My name is Jamey," I placed my hand on my chest and smiled, then motioned to him, "and yours?"
"My name is Samer," he smiled and nodded.
"Sam-al?" I asked.
"No, Sam-er" he articulated kindly.
"Sam-EL?" I tried and failed again.
"No-" he laughed and grabbed a crayon from the basket. He wrote his name, pointed and said it again "Sam. Air."
"Oh! Thank you, Samer." We laughed again.
I asked him how long he and his children have been in the US.
"Four months."
"And where are you from?"
"Syria." The name of his war-torn homeland took a somber tone.
"Well welcome Samer," I leaned in and met his rich brown eyes with a smile "I'm glad you're here. I hope you feel welcome."
He bowed his head. "Yes, thank you. Thank you...It is...safe...here."
I didn't ask about his wife.

Artwork by Syrian refugee.

Samer used to work in the food business. "Sweets," he told me "falafel...tabbouleh..." He currently works at a local restaurant, a job which he seemed incredibly grateful for. In fact, the entire conversation I felt a deep sense of gratitude and humility emanating from Samer. To have suffered what he has, to experience his life...I can't even imagine. And I am overwhelmed each time I come home from working with the refugees, how blessed I am. We have a safe, beautiful home where we can worship how we please, and my husband and I can work in fields we enjoy, where my kids will grow up with food in their bellies and a warm place to rest their heads at night. I have running water, electricity, internet and freedom of speech. The "persecution" I experience in so minimal to what these people have experienced. Although it hasn't always been that way for my demographic.

The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, aka the Mormons, have a long history of persecution and being driven from their homes. The early Mormon members in the U.S. suffered from angry mobs and pillaging, violent crimes such as beatings, tar and feathering, rape, burning of homes and houses of worship, and even an extermination order. After being repeatedly driven from their homes, they eventually found solace in the Salt Lake Valley, but only after traveling a great distance over uncharted and dangerous terrain. Many saints lost their lives in this journey.

Do these circumstances sound familiar?

65.3 million people around the world have been forced from home. Among them are nearly 21.3 million refugees, over half of whom are children. People of all faiths and backgrounds are risking their lives to cross land and sea to find safety from persecution, terror, and war.
These aren't war criminals, delinquents, vagabonds, or terrorists. These are people with educations and skills, like Samer, who just want to be safe.

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Every Monday morning I teach an Art Expressions class with Radmila, a Serbian immigrant and certified art therapist. This last week, Radmila was out of town for a funeral and I found myself teaching solo. I tried to prepare as much as I could, pondering and praying on a project that would serve the refugees.

We ended up keeping it simple with colored pencils, markers, and crayons on mixed media paper. I asked them, with the help of our talented interpreters, to draw a goal or dream they had for the future (ndoto in Swahili and hafar in Arabic). Do you know what 90% of them drew?

Homes. Houses.

"GOAL Buy a goal (good) home for boys."
Guda Koko, a Sudanese refugee

This past week I have been brought to tears over and over again by President Trumps imminent executive order to limit the USA's refugee intake so drastically. And the apathy and empty excuses I hear from a good portion of our citizens makes me ill. Perhaps it's because they are so removed from this demographic, they spend more time listening to pundits and talking heads than stepping outside their bubble of comfort and ease and acknowledging the people who look and act and worship so differently than them...And those may be biting words to hear, but it's the truth.
I can only echo the words of Elder Patrick Kearon "After looking into their eyes and hearing their stories, both of the terror they had fled and of their perilous journey to find refuge, I will never be the same."

I come from Mormon Pioneer stock. My ancestors crossed the plains to safety; for all intents and purposes, they were refugees. Their story truly is my story.
My goal over the next year is to share as many refugee stories as I can. You may not have the opportunity to interact directly with them, but I do, and I will defend these people with my words and actions to the best of my ability.
I hope as your read and see pictures of these people, your heart will be changed and you will seriously consider the biblical admonition:

"The stranger that dwelleth with you shall be unto you as one born among you, and thou shalt love him as thyself." (Leviticus 19:34)