My Dad was a refugee.
Like the many refugees from Syria we have been watching lately on the news reports, my Dad’s family also travelled over vast and dangerous distances to find a safe place and provision.
His family had a home with an orchard in Poland. It was taken from them during World War II. The family were evicted from their home and forced onto trains to take them to a workcamp in Russia. After a time, they were able to leave, but they had nowhere to go back to.
My Dad’s Mum and Dad both died on their journey through Russia seeking refuge. His baby sister also died.
The 7 kids who were left had to look after themselves and, together, they travelled so far. The eldest was 17.
Eventually, Dad’s brothers and sisters were dispersed from a Red Cross refugee camp in Persia (now Iran) to Tanzania and New Zealand. So Dad grew up in a Polish orphanage in Africa and later reunited with his brothers in New Zealand.
No wonder my Dad doesn’t want to leave New Zealand now. Since he arrived at 18 years old, he’s not been interested in travelling at all. Despite his Polish accent, which is quite strong even many decades later…
New Zealand is his home. Where he has unpacked and found belonging.
(I’m only telling a brief outline of this complex story here. I explored these stories from my childhood more for a short film I made when I was student. I’ll upload some of that film and link to it here when I get a chance.)
The BIG O.E.
But for me, despite being the daughter of immigrants – I am a Kiwi girl. And having grown up in New Zealand, you understand, it is the done and advisable thing culturally to travel and stay away for a while.
Living in New Zealand is a bit like island living in the respect that it takes hours to get anywhere. It’s even 3 or 4 hours to fly to Australia. More like 28 hours to get to the UK.
So C’mon! When we travel we want to make the most of it.
There’s even a term for this sort of travelling in New Zealand which everyone knows. “The Big O.E.” which stands for “Big Overseas Experience”. A year… or two… or three. Taking off with a backpack and returning with experience of the world.
My husband and I left New Zealand with only a backpack each. We had pared down to only the essentials for a 6-month holiday. Somehow, even these precious possessions went in a different direction to us and were not at Heathrow when we arrived. In fact, they didn’t arrive until a couple of days later. Were we bothered? We were far too jet-lagged to care very much about luggage.
18 years later, we are still in London. Now that’s a long “6-month” holiday.
Homeless Until…
18 years later and still in London, I see firsthand in my business the cost and challenges of finding a home.
The level of competition of tenants wanting to secure a home honestly astounds me. Not everyone can be successful – and what if they have no support from others? It’s far too easy for people to end up with no home and no place to belong…
I remember, when I witnessed people sleeping on the streets for the first time in my life, after I arrived here in London from New Zealand, it was an electric culture shock to my heart.
Even though seeing people who appear homeless and are on the streets is now a regular occurrence for me, it still touches my heart… Causes me to nudge my friends by doing charity fundraisers which I pray will make some difference for people who are homeless.
In hindsight, it’s sort of weird that it was more real for me to see homelessness first hand when I came to London, even though homelessness has been so real for Dad… My family’s refugee stories were emotional yet they were also the entertaining stories of my childhood.
I have a Home.
In that respect, I am different from my Dad. I have always had a home. I have had the privilege of having grown up totally secure. I can even go on holiday to my old home in New Zealand and return back home to London with my own family. I love my homes and realize how blessed I am to have them and the people who are in it, safe and sound.
18 years after arriving in London, I still have my backpack. However… I have acquired so many extraneous possessions that it often feels like I am still unpacking.
I have STUFF. A Houseful of Stuff.
These days, I often arrive home with groceries weighing more than that first backpack I brought to London. It can take several trips from the car to the kitchen with the bags to get everything inside and then time to put everything away in its place. Everything from the lentils to the candles have a unique home so we can find them when we want them.
We know where everything goes. We know where to find it to use it.
Because I have the privilege of a home, I have unpacked!
I like my home and my stuff. Mainly, it was me who chose the stuff. As my husband has limited interest in most materialistic stuff, I get to express my preferences through it : from carpet to the shell ornament to the books to the shapely kitchen tap.
Though sometimes I do wonder: What am I doing with all of this stuff?
I rather admire those who pare down to the minimum possessions and travel lightly around the world. (Even if they ironically use the cloud to store their personal stuff and preferences in the form of super heavy data).
In some respects, I wonder, where it’s just a place to unpack my things – do I even really need a home?
I think I do need a home. I’m a bit of a home-body. Of course I WANT a home. I’m so grateful for it. I love having a home.
But how do I prioritise it and manage the distraction it represents? There’s always something that needs doing in this place… I often wonder:
How can I unpack the things I truly need and get rid of the things I don’t need?
I’m reminds myself of the ultimate decluttering scripture that essentially tells us to “Lay aside the luggage and run the race before us”
More precisely: “…let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles. And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us” – Hebrews 12:1, KJV
How can I move quickly if I’m tied down?
Is there any thing so important that I must bring it with me as I could not live without it?
Immediately I ask myself the question I’m pretty sure I know what my answer is.
Although I would never want to live without my family, I know that my Everything is greater even than my family. And I know what I could not possibly live without…
IT’S GOD’S LOVE.
His amazing embracing grace.
That’s my strength.
That’s my abundant life and joy.
And that is my TRUE HOME.
When I walked into God’s arms for the first time, I knew it. It is my greatest prayer that other people may become aware of the availability of God’s love for them too and understand and feel even if just a part of what I understand and feel. I want to get better at sharing the love that I have been loved with. Even if it’s just to yell out to others:
“This is my loving God! He wants to be your refuge. He wants to be your shepherd too… Wherever you are wandering.”
I consider my own wandering in the context of my true home…
The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.
He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters.
He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name’s sake.
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.
Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.
Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever. (Psalm 23, KJV)
Truly home.
When I walked into my church here in London for the first time about 16 years ago, I truly felt I was Home. I now understand church as the big family that make up the house of God…His church is the people who join together to love Him back. At our church building these days we even have a big Welcome Home sign up near the door.
And I pray that my family home may also be a place of love and acceptance.
That we will shine His lamp light out into the darkness.
That we will unpack the grace of God here and throw away the stuff that’s weighing us down and holding us back from the race He has for each of us as individuals.
Though it’s a bit scary to write:
For our home to be a place of safe refuge and belonging.
In Jesus’ name, Amen.
