The Weary World

Yesterday I met up with James for a few minutes in the afternoon and was surprised when he told me, "I cried today."

I'm not surprised that James cries, I have seen that in action - trust me, and crying at work isn't surprising, I personally try to do it at least once a quarter just to keep things fresh.  I was surprised that James had cried at work because even with all the stress and occasional problems that pop up, this was a first.  And you know, only women cry at work - it's a man's worst nightmare.

He told me a story about his morning at the Visa window.  James works with special visa cases - people who worked for the U.S. army, or helped the government in some way and now want or need to move to the States to be safe.  Some groups here don't like it so much when you help the U.S. if you catch my drift.

Each morning he interviews these applicants, and most have compelling and/or touching stories, but yesterday was especially heart-wrenching.  Here is the story in James' words:

Yesterday we had a number of special immigrant visa applicants who had to return to the Embassy to have their fingerprints taken again because there was a glitch in the system.   A gentleman stepped up to the window to have his fingerprints taken.  Many of the applicants plead with me and ask me to please speed up their case somehow; this man simply explained that he and all of his brothers had worked with the US military, and he lay recommendations and expired IDs on the counter in front of me.  

After I took his prints I asked if his daughter were there who also needed to have her prints taken.  He quietly explained that she had been kidnapped and probably killed, and he indicated that we should remove her name from the petition.
 
I hear stories that are similar to his everyday, but yesterday as I looked at this father, I was overwhelmed.  I thanked him for his time and excused him to sit down, and had to excuse myself from the window and go to my desk where I put my head in my hands and cried.

This is the reality of Iraq.  We live sheltered in our little compound here and don't see much of the "real world" with the odd rocket or gunfire warning reminding us of where we are.  But occasionally we read or hear stories that remind us that the people here are suffering in ways that we simply haven't experienced.

Most of us in the U.S. don't have to worry if we step outside of our house that someone is waiting to intentionally kidnap us or our children.  We don't have to worry that our house could be hit by a rocket, or that an IED would explode as we drive down the street.  We don't have a member of our family who has lost a limb because they were caught in the line of fire, and we aren't trying to seek asylum in a different country where we don't understand the language or culture just so that we will be safe and our children won't be kidnapped and killed.

It is sobering to consider the daily life of the average Iraqi (and many others in different countries) and as Christmas nears, I am particularly grateful to live in a free country where I feel generally safe, and where I have a voice that can be heard, and that even in a down economy offers so much more bounty and opportunity than people here will ever see.

Pardon me while I wax spiritual, but my heart aches for a man who lost his little girl and it is simultaneously full because I know that when we feel that level of pain, there is only one balm that can begin to heal us.  The words of the song O Holy Night are especially poignant to me here in Baghdad.  And as the birth of Jesus Christ nears, I am grateful for the hope He offers me in a weary world.  No matter what you believe, or who you worship, may you find peace on earth and in your heart and may we all help each other to "feel our worth" and to stop oppression. 

Long lay the world in sin and error pining.
Till He appeared and the soul felt its worth.
A thrill of hope the weary world rejoices,
For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn. 

Truly He taught us to love one another,
His law is love and His gospel is peace.
Chains he shall break, for the slave is our brother.
And in his name all oppression shall cease.