A few weeks ago we invited our refugee friends to go to the Botanic Gardens with us. When they came over for lunch last summer, the mom had commented on my little garden, so I was excited to share the gardens with her. It was still very early in the spring, but I thought she might really enjoy the glass houses full of tropical plants.
Sam was out of town, so we were down to one car. The eight of us took the bus together. Their kids were used to the Colfax bus, but one of mine was a little preoccupied with the sheer quantity of germs.
The temperature never got above to 40s, and we were all freezing. Lots of the paths were under construction. (Overall, early May isn’t prime time to visit the botanic gardens.) But the minute we got in, the sisters began taking photos of each other non-stop. We jumped in on the photo-taking action, too. Their youngest son had visited the gardens with his class at school, and he was excited to show everyone around.
The highlight (for me) was in the greenhouse, where the plants from Burma are. My friend became more animated than I’ve ever seen her, as she eagerly introduced me to the plants that were her plants. I can’t tell you how happy it made me to see a part of her world.
I often feel like I’m doing everything wrong as we seek to partner with these new friends of ours. I have no Karen (their language). In March, they invited me to an event at their home at 8:30 in the morning. I’d been told times are loose (as they are in much of the world), so I showed up just before nine… right in the middle of their pastor’s sermon. Once I showed up with a case of lightbulbs I’d received at a fair, only to discover they had no lamps. And on and on.
But this cold, rainy May day, we did something right, just by the sheer power of showing up. And it was a joy.