While chatting with family this week, my husband’s family history came up in conversation. Refugees from what was then West Prussia, they lost their father, mother and youngest brother during the Second World War. The thing that has always impressed me most, however, is the depth of the gratitude they exhibit towards those who took them in, helped them get out to safety and then sponsored them to come to Canada. Laughter is part of nearly every conversation we have; nearly seven decades later they have not forgotten the relief and security strangers provided for them.
Now, and without reiterating the magnitude of this year’s fire storms, it’s not the destruction of forests and properties, as devastating as those things can be, that prompt this article; rather, it’s the heartache I feel for the people who have been forced from their homes and communities. While you and I may or may not be in that situation, at some point we all face situations that cause us to long for a place of safety and refuge.
American writer, singer and civil rights activist Maya Angelou once wrote: “Music was my refuge. I could crawl into the space between the notes and curl my back to loneliness.”
Be it music, humour, reading or any multitude of other diversions, seeking refuge from pain and suffering is common to us all.
I’ve been reading again about the life of the Psalmist David; if there ever was anyone who knew the heights of success and the depths of failure, he did. A king, an adulterer and murderer, a bereaved father — he experienced it all, but he also knew the source of forgiveness, grace and refuge.
“The Lord also will be a refuge for the oppressed, a refuge in times of trouble.” Psalm 9:9
He’s my refuge; He’s there for you, too.
