Live simply that others may simply live.

I love the philosophy, the ideal of that sentence. But when I feel like it would be nice to have a new outfit for a new season, that great thought fades quickly into the background. And I think that happens so easily when it stays just that: an idea, a principle, a nice way of thinking.

Face to face need changes everything. Living simply has new meaning for me tonight. We discovered Tuesday evening that one of the members of our newly formed English as a Second Language class had delivered a baby. They live right across the street from our building in an apartment owned by our church. We knew when they first moved in that they simply could not speak our language. So we excused ourselves, perhaps subconsciously, from actively reaching out to them. Fast forward six months. Now we have an avenue (ESL class) and a pressing need (newborn baby). The ESL leader visited their home with a friend of a friend of a friend who spoke Burmese!

What difference does language make? A world of difference.

Now we know their needs. The list is long and heartbreakingly basic. While my family of four has more cups than I ever even count, their family of five has 2 cups. While I choose which pair of shoes will best match my outfit, the grandmother of this family never leaves the house because she has no shoes or socks. While I lament the chore of cleaning my 3 floors of house, these 3 adults and 2 children live in an old one-bedroom apartment without enough curtains for all the windows.

I’m familiar with need. I’ve served in detention centers, inner-city neighborhoods, prisons, and even briefly in parts of foreign countries filled with poverty. But frankly, the story of a refugee overwhelms me. Abused and rejected by your home country, forced into a neighboring country often for years and sometimes decades, then placed in a country halfway across the world. Little to no grasp of the language, minimal knowledge of the culture, and completely disconnected from community.

I spent two days filled with fire—anger that such extreme loneliness and poverty lived 50 yards from the back door of my church and I had done nothing. Then I shed tears. Tears of grief for which there are no words. I pray I keep both the fire and tears. Constant motivation to pursue justice and extend love right across the street.