Eyes To See, Ears To Hear

We are surrounded by teachers.

Gearing ourselves
towards receiving their instruction is the trick.

I had tea and cookies with Anna. 

We first talked about the places in Poland that we had both been to...cities and sites; 

the common threads of our lives.

Then she showed me paintings of places near where her family lived.  And as I was readying to leave, also images of The Virgin Mary and Child from artists of several different countries that she traveled to with her husband before he had passed away.

In between my arrival and leaving she told me how somehow, her mother had been released from the camp in Dachau in order to give birth in a town nearby.

It was close to the end of the war.

There was a nurse in that dark place who had compassion on a prisoner.

There was another woman who secretly fed that baby girl for the twenty four hours after delivery, when life and death hung in the balance.

There were other examples of providential intervention by a God who found a way.

Moments of secret kindnesses during such a terrible time in human history.

Decades later she visited the place of her birth.  She recalled the journey by train and her eyes diverted from mine as she described seeing the street signs outside the train windows.

It was like she was there again. 

Then she returned her gaze to me.

"Would you like another cup of tea?" she asked.

Today, Anna travels to other prisons, not in Germany, but local, and tries to share hope and faith with those who are there.

There was a violin in his hand.

He has played in symphonies, representing the Seattle musical elite, and as an introduction to TED talks.

But he first learned to play as a foster child, at a local elementary school.

He was removed from his family...from the Lummi Tribe of Native Americans here in Washington.

He was placed in a new home.

In a basement.

Only allowed to come to the top of the stairs to pick up his food at meal time.

As it sat waiting for him.

Next to the dog food dishes. 

"Only come past the stairs when you're invited.  Otherwise, you and your brother, stay in the basement."

But in the present, there was a long-fought peace in his words. 

Even a thankfulness for the woman in a public school who first placed that violin in his hands.

And then he played, while I listened.

Beauty.

Hope.

Hurt.

Rose from the strings as the bow criss-crossed against them.

And I wept.

Rudy has attended our church, with his family...many times.

He has spent a good portion of his life trying to work through immigration issues.

The country he came from has no record of his birth.

So he can't go "home."

He has kept up on all his reporting and worked a steady job.

But some kind of miscommunication led to him being taken away from the life he has built here.

So, today he sat on the other side of glass.

We were joined in communication by a phone with a cord on each side of the wall that separated us.

I expected he would be discouraged, but instead he was jubilant.

He slapped his hand against the glass and I did too.

After our greetings I asked how he was handling all of this.

"I feel I am blessed," he said.

"God has found me here in so many ways and continues to speak to me through many people and situations where he tells me he is taking care of me and my family."

We talked for around 20 minutes and then, because I wanted to leave time for others who were waiting,

I prayed and passed the phone on. 

After hugging Rudy's fiancé, I stepped out of that room, walked down a hallway, picked up my car-keys and wallet from the entryway lockers and in a few moments went through double-doors and walked

onto the sidewalk outside.  

The sky was blue.

A gentle breeze was in the air.

I walked towards my car, knowing I could pretty much go wherever I wanted with the rest of my day.

"I feel I am blessed," he said.

Our teachers are everywhere.

May we live with eyes and ears open, 

Ready to receive what they have to give us.