Kristen's Thoughts
My earliest memories are of nights curled up in bed, covered by a mosquito net, and my mother spreading citronella ointment on my pillow before kissing me goodnight. I remember loud, torrential downpours on our tin roof during the rainy season and then climbing the balancing rocks with my friends behind our house when the sun came out again. Then came the whispers and worried faces of my mom and dad as our mail was opened and censored, of when strangers appeared in my dad’s classroom, and finally the hurried plans to move back to the States. The revolution was about to begin and my father, a professor of Theology at a small seminary located outside of Harare, was warned by friends that it was time for him to “go home.” He had spoken out too much about the government. He and his students had dreamed about a time when Apartheid no longer strangled their land. Their country was Rhodesia.
My next clear memories are of living in Winter Park, FL at age 5, which is where we moved upon leaving Africa. My dad was a pastor of a local UCC Church. I felt loved by the church community, but that didn’t shield me from the ridicule piled on me at school, in this still segregated community. Ridicule for my accent, for the Shona words which slipped out, for the friends I kept, and for the music my family listened to.
These experiences shaped the direction of my life. They are, however, but a molehill compared to the mountain of difficulties experienced by the men, women, and children served by ERICA. Coming in and out of our Cathedral, we hear their voices, we see their faces, and we feel the warmth of their smiles. What we don’t see, however, is the tremendous strength it takes to wake up every day in a new land, plagued by memories of escaping their home country, living in refugee camps, relying on the goodness of strangers for a place to sleep at night or a warm meal for their children.
A few years ago at an ERICA workshop, I brought several students from St. Paul’s School for Girls to play games with the attending children while their parents participated in a health workshop. I remember talking with a young boy from Bhutan who was about 11 years old. With tears in his eyes he said that all he wanted to do was to go back to the Refugee Camp—because it was so much better than being in Baltimore. He was bullied at school, he didn’t have any friends, and he couldn’t even go out to play because his neighborhood was unsafe. All he wanted to do was go home. He is one of thousands of refugee children living right here in our city, and their needs are overwhelming.
I am honored to be the current and newly elected President of the ERICA Advisory Board. I feel that I have no extra special skills to offer this immigrant community, however, I know that I have a passion to serve. The men, women, and youth of ERICA volunteer countless hours every year—by leading workshops, walking clients through the endless refugee process, mentoring families, providing groceries, making referrals, granting loans, tutoring, and just simply listening to their stories. These men, women, and youth regularly give their time, talent, and treasures, but if asked about these blessings they offer I’m confident that each one of them would say that they are the ones who are blessed. They are the ones who are being changed by the extraordinary people they serve from around the world.
My next clear memories are of living in Winter Park, FL at age 5, which is where we moved upon leaving Africa. My dad was a pastor of a local UCC Church. I felt loved by the church community, but that didn’t shield me from the ridicule piled on me at school, in this still segregated community. Ridicule for my accent, for the Shona words which slipped out, for the friends I kept, and for the music my family listened to.
These experiences shaped the direction of my life. They are, however, but a molehill compared to the mountain of difficulties experienced by the men, women, and children served by ERICA. Coming in and out of our Cathedral, we hear their voices, we see their faces, and we feel the warmth of their smiles. What we don’t see, however, is the tremendous strength it takes to wake up every day in a new land, plagued by memories of escaping their home country, living in refugee camps, relying on the goodness of strangers for a place to sleep at night or a warm meal for their children.
A few years ago at an ERICA workshop, I brought several students from St. Paul’s School for Girls to play games with the attending children while their parents participated in a health workshop. I remember talking with a young boy from Bhutan who was about 11 years old. With tears in his eyes he said that all he wanted to do was to go back to the Refugee Camp—because it was so much better than being in Baltimore. He was bullied at school, he didn’t have any friends, and he couldn’t even go out to play because his neighborhood was unsafe. All he wanted to do was go home. He is one of thousands of refugee children living right here in our city, and their needs are overwhelming.
I am honored to be the current and newly elected President of the ERICA Advisory Board. I feel that I have no extra special skills to offer this immigrant community, however, I know that I have a passion to serve. The men, women, and youth of ERICA volunteer countless hours every year—by leading workshops, walking clients through the endless refugee process, mentoring families, providing groceries, making referrals, granting loans, tutoring, and just simply listening to their stories. These men, women, and youth regularly give their time, talent, and treasures, but if asked about these blessings they offer I’m confident that each one of them would say that they are the ones who are blessed. They are the ones who are being changed by the extraordinary people they serve from around the world.
