The Catholic Writers Guild

Refuge for this refugee

After years of refugee life, my niece-in-law is finally finding refuge with us in the United States. She trekked through the mountains in northwestern Iran to Turkey over a decade ago, and will arrive here this week. Hers is one story among millions who suffer through such storms.  She recently shared a couple of passages that sustained her in dark times:

“For I the Lord do not change; therefore you, O children of Jacob, have not perished.” Malachi 3:6

“He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.”  Psalm 147:3

While I have never experienced the dire circumstances of displaced refugees, I have sought refuge from life many times.  I believe everyone has.  Even the apostles, when fearful of capsizing in the middle of a huge storm, sought refuge by waking Jesus in the boat. But I didn’t always turn to Jesus for calm in the storm, I mostly turned to food for comfort.

It took more than fifty years for me to internalize that my true source of comfort is as close as Jesus was to his disciples in the storm.  These days His words and sacraments are more consoling than any other food, and the more I immerse myself in His word, the less worldly refuge I seek. My niece learned this at a much younger age than me.

“Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest.  Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.  For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.” Matthew 11:28-30

Knowing even a fraction of what my niece and others have been through as refugees makes me thankful for my own small crosses and grateful for such a loving, gentle savior.  Today’s gospel passage is all the rescue I need today – I just need to remember to actively reach out and act according to His Word.

The poem which follows was a first step to acknowledging action and can be found in my book: Everywhere Hope.

Lord, Lord

by Paula Veloso Babadi

I cry “Lord, Lord,”
yet stubbornly cling to the darkness of my false god
and yield to enveloping numbness.
It placates and buffers the gnawing
from which I am unwilling to reach up and
grasp the Hand
longing to save me from myself.
I hide from the ugliness I might discover
in the light of a clear mind.
Instead, I remain dazed
from the fleeting pleasure of sweet deceits, and
fall into the pocket of oblivion
where nothing matters
anymore.
What makes me think I will magically say “yes” to
Truth that longs to find me
after a lifetime of submitting to the subtle
and easy lie?
My actions betray my heart.
It is not enough to cry “Lord, Lord.”
I am convicted by Paul’s lament.
If I sincerely ask for rescue, He will come
and sweep me upward.
Jesus, I trust in You.
“Lord, Lord,”
give me strength not just to ask and trust,
but to act.

Copyright 2023 Paula Veloso Babadi