June Eleventh

There are moments with Michael that transport me back to years ago. The only difference between now and then would be the absence of slurs between English and Turkish. We sat waiting for him to return from the home office asylum registry. He had a hard experience apparently, because he returned in a state of near mourning. He began to speak to us about the treatment he receives from the government officials. I wish that the British were not so seemingly arrogant in their dealings with foreigners. The whole thing makes me sick.

Michael is a man. He is a good man. He works hard. He shares everything. He owns nothing that he would not give away to his family. His brother’s children are his own. His mother’s admonition is nothing short of the voice of God. He longs to know. You can see it in his eyes. We sat at the Café in the early afternoon, somehow lost in conversation, never once breaking eye contact. He spoke into me while the whole world watched. He told me of his belief – The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away. Everything he has is from God. There is nothing he would ever complain about since he knows that God saw fit to allow each situation in his life.

Each week he goes to sign his life away. Every seven days, he goes to show the British government that has not gone into hiding. He could bury himself in the city, but instead chooses to be a man of integrity. They allow him to stay one more week. He knows that is all he ever has. If they send him away, he loses everything, perhaps even his life… and yet he trusts that God knows. I have never heard him sound so close to Christ and yet so Muslim.

I cannot speak. Father, will you teach Michael to pray to Jesus?