I have this friend that came to Canada from Sierra Leone three years ago at the age of nineteen. I remember the first time I met him he stood at the front of our church with his mother and two younger sisters, holding the stump of his right arm that had been cut off by the rebels in the horrible war of his home country, and he thanked the people of our congregation for supporting his family in coming to Canada. He stood there with such strength thanking God and the people of my church for basically what he believed to be the life of his family; the appreciation he felt for being privileged enough to live in a country like Canada, where he could feel safe. All of this happened, serendipitously enough on Canada Day and I have never looked at our nation’s birthday the same way again.
That strength and gracious spirit I have had the privilege of experiencing on numerous occasions. And I was reminded of it tonight as hardly any people braved the cold weather to come to choir practice but this young man, certainly not accustomed to the Canadian cold, had given his word to me that he wanted to be there so without any hesitation or complaint came to a choir practice full of songs not of his native language. And after it all I went to greet him and he put out his prosthetic arm to embrace me without shame.
There is something about this man and his amazing spirit that touches me every time I interact with him. I remember going to visit him in the hospital when he was diagnosed with tuberculosis and he spoke openly and honestly about how the rebels came and decapitated the elder men of their villages while the young men watched just to have their arms cut off as a possibly lesser but longer-lasting reminder of the horror. He talked about how they would have to hide passes in their underwear underneath their genitals so that it wouldn’t be detected by the rebels – so they could escape. He survived. No, more than that. He emerged. He emerged and gained from that experience what he could without diminishing it or denying it. He still believed in the beauty of the world without denying the shadow. At nineteen, he became a great man.
Being touched by this man I can’t help but be reminded of another man who has touched my life so completely and whose story is strangely similar. My grandfather is a great man. I have thought this since I was two years old and we would sit out under the apple tree and have ‘tea time’. And how he would clean up my bumps and bruises in the bathroom sick with hydrogen peroxide and a band-aid (maybe the reason I want to be a doctor?) . And how as a janitor at the local hospital he took such pride in his work that his grandchildren thought he was a doctor and every staff member at the hospital came to his retirement (and still speak incredibly highly of him). No job is too small or insignificant for him. He approaches everyone he meets like a friend that he just hasn’t met yet. And he has had hardship; incredible amounts of hardship that would have broken the spirits of most people. But it didn’t break his spirit. Even though he was drafted in Germany, spent years as a prisoner of war and had countless setbacks as he tried to make a life here in Canada he has always approached life with a sense of wonder, grace and appreciation. He believes that there is learning in hardship and that those feelings should not be denied but learned from. And his faith is stronger than anyone I have ever known and is the foundation for my own spiritual beliefs. He is one of the reasons I believe in God because he has shown God to me every time I am with him.
These two men are great examples to me and encourage me to become a better person and I am so appreciative to have them in my life. I hope I can do them proud by learning from the lessons and gifts they have graciously given to me.