everyone has a story

Recently I was out mowing the lawn with our push mower - yes, the old school kind with no motor, propelled by leg muscles. Some of my neighbors, whom I had not met, were also out that evening watering their lawn. They have the nicest yard on our row - newly sodded lawn, well manicured trees and shrubs, and blooming annuals and perennials. Our yard is made up of overgrown, contractor grade shrubs and an overlay of clover where the grass should be. I wanted tips from an expert...so I walked over to introduce myself.

Thankfully our neighbors were friendly and gracious. She shared with me the knowledge of what she has learned in the past few years about what grows well in our soil and sun exposure. As she was talking she spoke with such eloquence and grace, but with an obvious accent - so, my next line of questions had nothing to do with her flower garden. Where are you from originally? How long have you lived here? How many children do you have? etc, etc, etc...my undergrad training in Journalism continues to be useful.

She and her husband are originally from Liberia. As faithful readers know, I have been to Liberia and, thus, know a little bit about the country and it's history. I asked if they were living there during the civil war? Yes. What was it like for you before, during, and after? (this line of questioning was more of a series than one question)

Before the war, he had earned an undergrad degree from Maryland, USA, then a master's from Europe and a law degree in Israel. He had a high level position in his country and was a well respected leader with incredible influence. During the war, they did what they needed to in order to survive and also spent some time in neighboring countries. After, they raised 10 kids, most of which were not their own, but orphans because of war. They immigrated to America in the hopes of building a better life and they have struggled since. They are both employed, but at jobs much below their qualifications. As they spoke I saw their emotions turn from pride and joy, to sorrow and sadness. The husband excused himself and went inside for a minute. When he left the wife told me something I cannot forget. She looked at the closed door her husband had just passed through and said, "no one here sees who he is. In all the time we've lived here, no one has asked about his past success." In that moment, I saw how much love and respect she has in her heart for her husband. I saw the pain she carries for him, because of the sacrifices they have both made. I have not been able to forget the conversation. We continued to chat and she promised to invite me over for dinner some time to share a Liberian meal. We speak each time we see one another outside.

What has stuck with me is how easy it is to make judgments about people. If they are struggling - it must be because they are not trying. If only they would apply themselves, educate themselves, work harder - then they wouldn't be in their situation. If the situation continues - they must be lazy, or greedy, or have an inflated sense of entitlement. I have only met a handful of individuals that fit this description, the majority try and try and try some more, only to get knocked down, then they get back up and try again.

This man who has worked hard in his life and overcome an incredible amount of adversity, who has earned and retained the respect of his wife - he is not seen. In the years they have lived in this country, no one had cared enough to get to know him.

It's amazing what a difference a conversation can make. I now look at people cleaning parking lots or buildings, hauling trash, mowing lawns and wonder - what is their story?

just Sheri, changed by the sacrifices of others