It was yet another day in apartment land. Post-school hours and mild weather brings every last kid out into the open to enjoy their roller blades, watching their siblings and kicking around soccer balls. By now, my fender-bent gray Mazda has been established in the minds of my young friends, so they can easily identify my pulling into the complex. I may have been parked 5 seconds before I was overwhelmed with greetings.
I always find my spirit and mind pretty tired by the 5 o’clock hour, but the presence of the kids seem to rejuvenate me. We let my car doors hang open, my trunk serving as a sitting and talking space.
There’s one young guy, we’ll call him Buddy, who seems to have a playful yet rough personality and not the best grasp on his anger and his tongue. He spotted by pink volleyball and asked to play with it.
“Sorry, it’s flat”, I said. “I have a pump!”, he blurted and ran to grab it so he could fix my problem.
My payment for this service? 10 minutes of volleyball with the boys in the lot.
I went in, but found myself back outside in a flash as my dog needed to be walked, once again. My friend Dida came running up to me, advocating for another young friend, Zella.
“Emily! Emily! Can you help us? Zella is upset because Buddy said mean things to her, about her family.”
“What do you want me to do?”, I inquired.
“I don’t know; go talk to him or something. Will you solve the problem?”
Life around my refugee neighbors has its unique moments, but you might be surprised to hear that most occurrences, skirmishes, rejoicing, or pain is close to and familiar to that which penetrates everyone’s life– the mundane day to day events.
I wasn’t sure what they expected of me, but I meandered in their direction. Buddy ended up letting me talk to him and agreed he should say sorry to Zella. We walked over to Zella together and forgiveness was humbly exchanged. It was the oddest of moments as Zella’s parents were standing right there and I was being asked to orchestrate the peace. My conversation to follow was sweet. It was good to finally meet the Iraqi parents of my young lady friend as they sincerely thanked me for handling the situation and asked about my life.
Jesus often found Himself handling disputes. People knew Him as wise, knowledgeable, bold, and peaceful. Because of this, they sought Him out when issues arose.
Pursuing a spirit of peace on a daily basis looks something being neutral in a situation where your Afghan friend is explaining her struggles at home to you and you choose not to take sides. It looks like suggesting to my middle-school friends that we say encouraging words to each other instead of insults. It looks like simply maintaining patience and gentleness when irritation is knocking at the door. It looks like asking what positives exist in someone’s life when they’ve expressed hopelessness.
And somehow, someway this speaks to others that at your core, you are a peace-maker.
Yet again was I invited into a situation when I wasn’t seeking integration.
Blessed to be living amongst and alongside this community. Thankful that a spirit of peace goes before me.