There But For the Grace of God Go I

I met a young lady who was born in the Democratic Republic of the Congo.  She is a brilliant young woman, with a double major in chemistry and biology.  She wants to be a doctor. When she came to the United States at 14, she could not read in any language.  She was put into school with people her age and expected to understand a language she had never heard, work with a system she had never seen, and try to succeed in a world completely foreign to her.  I asked her to tell me a little about herself and her life. She told me that when she was growing up, first in the DRC and then in a refugee camp, her family told her she was a “nothing girl”. They told her she could not have an education. They told her that the only way she could help her family was to bring home a husband who would then pay the family a cow. Now she says she wants to go back to Africa, help girls learn about nutrition, education, reading and writing.  She feels blessed to have come to America and to learn to read and write. Her cousins got married at 12, at 14, at 16. Her cousins are still stuck in poverty. She says she wakes up knowing that there but for the grace of God go I.

I met a young lady born in Iran. She said her father allowed her to finish high school, but then she had to stop. She knew that she wanted more. So she secretly told her family goodbye, and into the night she ran. Eventually she made it to Turkey, the equivalent of 8 dollars in her pocket.  She was able to find some work in Turkey, and worked for two years while trying to find a way to escape to Greece. She finally made it to Greece and applied for Refugee asylum. After many years of waiting, learning, and hoping, she was admitted to the United States as a refugee. She is now in school, studying International Relations. She wants to help other women be able to gain an education. She states that she cannot see or contact her family, for if her community finds out what she has done, her father and mother would be punished. She says that she prays to Allah every day expressing her gratitude that she can read and go to college. She knows that anything and everything can be taken away in an instant. There but for the grace of God go I.

I met a woman from North Korea. She was shy at first to tell her story.  She still worries that someone from North Korea will find her and take her back. She made her decision one night that she would not die in North Korea, but it took her 17 years to escape completely. Three failed attempts had put her back in horrific forced labor camps, where she states that the atrocities grew in the levels of abuse each time, but she will not go into the details for fear of unknown retribution that may lie ahead. After leaving North Korea the fourth time, she spent time in China where she was sold as a slave wife, raped and left pregnant and alone. From there she was able to get to South Korea and apply for asylum to the United States. In the United States I met her at a warehouse working for just over minimum wage.  I was told by supervisors that she works so hard that they warn her consistently to stop or slow down. She tells us the work is too easy and she must move this fast to keep up with the thoughts in her mind. She dreams of someday learning enough English to find a way to go back and help others escape North Korea. She dreams every night of the horrors she faced, and feels guilt every day that the small basement apartment she calls home is better than anything she could have ever imagined, and better than anything her loved ones will ever have. There but for the grace of God go I.

I met a woman from Somalia who left her family to live with an uncle in the United States when she was 14. From the first time she got a part time job until today, she sends money so that her mother can take care of her siblings.  She rarely gets to go home. When she does, she has to fly into other African countries and sneak over the border to see her family. Seeing her family is literally a risk that could result in death. There but for the Grace of God go I.

I met a woman tied down and forced to watch her daughter tortured in unspeakable ways.  I met a woman who sat under a window to try and learn because she was not allowed in the school because of her gender. I have met so many women with so many trials, and how painfully I know, that there but for the grace of God go I.  I have had as much education as I could have ever wanted. I have a beautiful home. I have a warm bed. I have plenty of food. I have a job and the ability to communicate with those around me. But what is given can be taken away. What is enjoyed can be lost.  

I am descended from a woman who left Scotland to flee to America to practice the religion she loved. When she got here, she was warned not to join her people in Nauvoo, because of the political unrest and fear that surrounded her religion. She hid in St. Louis, a town in a state that had ordered the extermination of her people, working as a seamstress to earn enough money to escape that state and flee to a desert where she could finally worship the way she wanted.  Finally she arrived in the desert, taking an unwanted land and working to be a part of those who helped it blossom like a rose. She sacrificed all that she could so that I, her descendent, could live within the rose, could worship however I chose, with no fear of persecution or being driven from my home. I must always stop to remember that there but for the Grace of God go I.

As we look at others in their suffering and pain, we can condemn and blame. We can state that they are undeserving of help. We can state that they brought it upon themselves. We can state they did it the wrong way. We can toute that we did better, we worked harder, we were stronger.  But perhaps we should also remember there but for the grace of God go I.