I was wishing I did not have to fulfill a commitment I had made weeks before.
"Sure, I'll help out," I had said when asked to be on the clean-up committee for
the International Students Welcome Dinner. However, my Monday had been a long
and busy one, so by 7
p. m. I was longing for an easy chair and a book to read. Instead, I was on my
way to the university campus soon to meet the first problem of the
evening..where to park. After a few unsuccessful attempts and a bit of mumbling
and muttering as I searched, I managed to find a spot. I walked almost
begrudgingly to the Ecumenical Center a couple blocks away and slipped past the
assembly of new International students seated at long tables, all listening
intently to a man with a microphone.
Dr. Bob was explaining what the HIS organization was all about. Sponsored by the
churches in our community, HIS provides friendship to these often lonely and
bewildered people who have come here to study. Each student, that chooses to
participate, is assigned to an American family who invites them into their home
for an occasional dinner, provides transportation when needed, or answers
questions they may have. The American families help ease the Culture Shock some
of these students face. Different races, different religions and customs can be
a lot to deal with when far from home.
I found my way to the kitchen and dove into a pile of platters and bowls that
needed washing and drying. Finishing that, I moved on to clear the remainder of
the food from the serving tables. I was busy gathering things to the center of
one table, still wishing I was somewhere else, maybe even sighing now and then.
At that point, a little child slipped quietly over to the table where I was
working. She was about five years old, pretty, petite, and completely silent.
Her almond shaped eyes regarded me warily. Short black hair, cut to cup her
face, looked like silk. She wore pink capri pants as well as pink and white
sandals that made her look like any American child. Her blouse, however, was
typically Chinese with a mandarin collar, frog closures rather than buttons, and
delicate embroidery work.
I smiled at her and said hello. No response.only those big, dark eyes watching
my every move. I asked her if she would like a cookie, using both words and
gestures, since I was unsure if she understood English. Again, no response. I
moved farther along the table, and she moved with me on the opposite side. I
spoke and gestured; she remained silent and unsmiling. But, oh, those beautiful
eyes never left me. I felt she was storing information in little compartments in
her mind. Surely, she would chatter later, in Chinese, to her mother and father
about the lady cleaning the table.
I smiled and waved to her as I headed back to the kitchen with the leftover
food. Another woman and I were bagging it to take to the Emergency Shelter.
Shortly, I looked up, and there she was, my little Chinese friend. She stood in
the doorway, watching and listening for a few moments until a woman came and
pulled her gently away. That sweet child had never said a word, but her eyes
spoke volumes.
As though I had been called, I walked back to the dining room and stood
listening for a few moments. The man with the microphone was still talking,
still explaining what life would be like in this strange place called Kansas.
Dr. Bob approached these wary strangers with kindly humor laced throughout
necessary information.
My eyes scanned the room, and what I saw warmed my heart. People from around the
world sat side by side, many hearing a language not their own. As the school
year progresses, they will form friendships and attachments to one another and
to their American host families, and the good-byes next summer will be emotional
ones.
Suddenly, I felt fortunate to be here sharing this new beginning with these
people. Once again, God knew where I needed to be, and I wondered if He had sent
a petite little Chinese angel to tell me so, a special messenger who spoke not a
word but said so much.
Nancy Julien Kopp © 2001
kopp@networksplus.net
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