Toronto Skyline Waiting, waiting, waiting.
Our ten-person Syrian refugee committee is scrambling like mad to raise funds for rent and living expenses, gathering every household item people need to live, guessing what language, what ethnic background and religion our family might have so we can identify social and cultural groups they would want to connect with (Toronto is incredibly blessed with communities of almost every sort), finding doctors, dentists for them, a myriad of forms and applications to be filled out, lining up winter clothing and snow boots for people we haven’t seen (short, tall, skinny, plump?), finding cell phones, computer and internet so they can find jobs, English language training, and on and on.
All this, when so far, we know only their ages and sex: a mother in her late sixties, her two adult daughters and a son in law. Yes, that’s all we know, and they could arrive any day, or next week, or by the end of the month. When word comes they are waiting at Pearson International, suddenly we will know a lot more, presuming we have brought the right translator.
Please, please, please let them arrive safely. Our church got to exactly this point last year, waiting with bated breathe when word came that the father of our refugee family had simply disappeared from their camp, and the mother with small children wouldn’t leave the Middle East without him. No idea what happened, or if he is still alive. We were told nothing thereafter.
https://www.washingtonpost.com/opinions/canada-gets-it-right-on-syrian-refugees/2015/11/26/8c9164ee-93a5-11e5-a2d6-f57908580b1f_story.html
Our ten-person Syrian refugee committee is scrambling like mad to raise funds for rent and living expenses, gathering every household item people need to live, guessing what language, what ethnic background and religion our family might have so we can identify social and cultural groups they would want to connect with (Toronto is incredibly blessed with communities of almost every sort), finding doctors, dentists for them, a myriad of forms and applications to be filled out, lining up winter clothing and snow boots for people we haven’t seen (short, tall, skinny, plump?), finding cell phones, computer and internet so they can find jobs, English language training, and on and on.
All this, when so far, we know only their ages and sex: a mother in her late sixties, her two adult daughters and a son in law. Yes, that’s all we know, and they could arrive any day, or next week, or by the end of the month. When word comes they are waiting at Pearson International, suddenly we will know a lot more, presuming we have brought the right translator.
Please, please, please let them arrive safely. Our church got to exactly this point last year, waiting with bated breathe when word came that the father of our refugee family had simply disappeared from their camp, and the mother with small children wouldn’t leave the Middle East without him. No idea what happened, or if he is still alive. We were told nothing thereafter.
https://www.washingtonpost.com/opinions/canada-gets-it-right-on-syrian-refugees/2015/11/26/8c9164ee-93a5-11e5-a2d6-f57908580b1f_story.html
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