Yesterday I did something I often do on Sunday afternoons. I took a walk. In many ways it was no different than the hundreds I have taken before, and yet it changed my walking habits, hopefully forever.
 
I was walking with some folks yesterday, and my own tendency toward being alone when I exercise makes that a big deal in and of itself. But it is who I was walking with that is significant to the aforementioned change. At the FBC of Burlington, in a partnership with NC Lutheran Family services, we are “sponsoring” a refugee family. That family came to my house yesterday afternoon. They were there, primarily to use my wash and dryer to do their laundry. The plan had been to take them to a local Laundromat and pay for them to wash (and dry) their clothes. I proposed that we host them for the day, and a little extra on the water bill not withstanding, save the costs at a laundry.
 
The people at FBCB who had been serving as “handlers” thought this an excellent idea, and said how it would give this family “something to do” as apparently they were quite bored. I don’t want to get into the details and their safety and security (they are political refugees) requires that I not use their names. They are sort of “in transit” from one spot to another so getting jobs, putting kids in schools, etc. is a bit premature. So yesterday, the father, the oldest son, and the only daughter who made the trip with them went for a walk with me.
 
Ever heard the old saying, “make sure you stop and smell the roses?” Well, my new friends apparently had. But it wasn’t just roses they stopped and smelled. Walnuts, creek water, cedar trees, wild daisies ... I could go on. My walk was more like a smell, as we stopped every few feet to pick up something else to sniff.
 
These people are Christians, but beyond that we have nothing in common. The language barrier is so great and so real that there was many an anxious moment of silence yesterday. But on our walk, there was simply an unspoken language of appreciation. These people new to America were busy appreciating smells that the cover of fire, bombs, and bullets had robbed them of in their homeland. I was busy appreciating their appreciating.
 
Their children rode my children’s bikes, the father sat in his first “recliner,” and of course we got their laundry done. I enjoyed the time very much and believe my children learned what being “Christ like” is in ways that no discipleship class can teach. But I am most grateful for the God who makes ways to connect, even when language and normal communication channels fail.
 
And I am grateful, more than ever, for the smells of His creation all around me.