They sat with their ethnic clothing but she wore Western clothes. During the greeting time, she seemed to connect with the English speakers nearby. The service began and I can’t remember what the sermon was about that day in fall ’07 but I will always recollect when the pastor had these people stand. Yes, it was them! The Karen from Burma! Here, in Boise, Idaho! The pastor and his family ministered among this people group in the 80’s. I first met the Karen in Chiang Mai, Thailand in summer ’04.

       She stood proud with the group. Hands humbly folded in front of her but eyes radiant with strength. I tried to hold it back but the tears escaped onto my cheeks. For three years the ache to return to S.E. Asia had been building in my heart. I was overwhelmed that they were here, in my hometown, as refugees seeking new lives of freedom.

       I started attending the Burmese/Karen service our church hosted. The efforts to get to know her took persistence. Because of her English, many bombarded her with questions. She politely declined over and over to meet or attend activities I invited her to. Finally, in February ’08, the Rambo movie about her people came out to theaters. A mutual friend brought it up and suggested we go though she was too busy herself. The indirect invite took pressure off and she said yes. She shed not a tear through the whole film while the lump in my throat threatened to choke me. The brutality portrayed was more than nauseating – rape, villages burnt, children and grandmas shot in the back while fleeing, landmines blowing off limbs, and, in reality, this is going on still.

“Do you believe this is happening to my people?” Her head turned away out of my line of vision as we walked through the parking lot to the car. I could only wonder at the bottled up emotions, memories and how they had shaped her life.

Her date of arrival into the United States was 9-11. We now call this day Patriot’s Day after the terror attacks of ’01. This day meant a remembrance of the evil that can and did occur but for her this day marked the beginning of a new life. God can make beauty from the ashes. She is a prime example of such.

As the months went by, we had many talks. She became a sister to me. Her stories stirred me. Her homeland had been tormented for over 60 years by a tyrannical Burmese military regime. I couldn’t get enough as my mind painted pictures of bamboo, jungle, rivers, villages, soldiers, family, faith, fleeing, risk, challenges and questions.

“You should write your story for others to read and know,” I burst out in enthusiasm.

Her response revealed wisdom beyond her years – “No, it is not time.”

I fired back without thinking, “But it is incredible and life-changing!”

“Everyone has a story.” Why did she keep speaking in such short, poised statements?

“But yours is so powerful with pain but promise,” I cried, sure of my stance.

True to Asian style of conflict resolution, she moved the conversation off herself and presented an analogy. “It’s like a movie – it’s not a good film unless there are sad and funny parts.” I didn’t remember any funny parts in Rambo.

I gave up trying my contrasting comebacks and attempted a conditional question that would be sure to win her over. “If you don’t write or tell more of your story, how can I and others learn more?”

She won the argument with one line – “You just have to go and see for yourself.”

And so…I went. I saw. I learned. And now I understand how a written story of reality could never compare with all my senses experiencing the situation first-hand. Life-altering.

As our nation remembers fallen heroes on 9-11, I also remember my Karen sister who is a hero in her own right. Four years has flown by too fast since her arrival. But the story is not ending; it is just beginning. Freedom grants growth. She grows stronger, deeper each day.

I’m deeply thankful for my country that welcomes refugees. Because of this, I know her and learn from her and others like her. Because of the pieces of seemingly broken lives, my life has become more whole. Truly, God has blessed America! May we always remember with thankfulness the gifts that freedom grants.