As I look back over the past year, I recognize signs sometimes
overlooked. Two months ago, when I sat at the kitchen table in
92-year-old Florence Trimble’s home, trying to figure out what to
do when her health had taken a turn for the worse, little did I
realize the impact of what was about to happen.
As I look back over the past year, I recognize signs sometimes overlooked. Two months ago, when I sat at the kitchen table in 92-year-old Florence Trimble’s home, trying to figure out what to do when her health had taken a turn for the worse, little did I realize the impact of what was about to happen. I had arrived at her doorstep with my friend Don Londgren and all the worldly possessions of Angelo Athian Bul (Angel Secret Drum), a refugee from war-torn Sudan, Africa. Florence had graciously offered him a room in her house while he pursued his education at Gavilan. As far as we knew, all systems were a go for Angelo to move in that day. He had given notice where he was living, and he had come over previously to get to know Florence and ready the room for moving in. Unfortunately, we had not been told that Florence suddenly had the need of her spare room for full-time nursing care.
I could tell she felt just awful as she told us she had to rescind her offer of a room for Angelo; the distress was written all over her face. It was a horrible moment as we sat there, boxes between us, looking at each other, wondering what to do. Angelo immediately said, “It’s no one’s fault; don’t worry about it.” Florence looked so anguished; then she began telling me of her many experiences in having refugees stay with her and what a richly rewarding experience it had been. “There are always adjustments,” she said, “But the rewards far outweigh the difficulties.” As we tried to figure out a solution, Florence seemed to rally for a moment: a smile twitched at the corners of her mouth; then she turned and looked pointedly at me as she said, “Something will work out.”
In that moment, I knew the baton was being passed; that she was saying now it was my turn to do something she could no longer do. In that moment, something ineffable changed within me; something I didn’t know was there rose upward, like a graceful water lily breaking the surface. So this was what other people meant when they told me how a mentor like Florence had changed the course of their lives … I knew I was going to go home and tell my husband that a Dinka tribesman from another part of the world was coming to live with us; and that while we can’t save the world, this was our opportunity to at least make life better for one person.
When he came here, Angelo said, “I am standing at the window looking in,” telling me he had caught a glimpse of the life here that he wants for his future, and a dream had tugged at his heart. A dream to replace the nightmare of soldiers on horseback storming his unarmed village, burning their homes and crops, and taking the cattle which were their livelihood; the heartache of seeing them torture and kill his friends and relatives by nailing them to trees or burning them with branding irons … separating him from his parents at the age of 9 and leaving him to struggle to overcome homelessness, disease, attack and starvation for the next 14 years.
Maybe we can’t stop the war in Sudan, but we can help one person. I can’t personally stop starvation in Africa, but maybe I can help feed one person. Maybe you can’t save the world, but what if each of us saved one person? What would the world look like? When I asked my fellow Gilroyans to bring small gifts to fill Angelo’s first-ever Christmas stocking, I experienced the joy all that week before Christmas of people bringing me things like Starbucks certificates, nail clippers, tie clips, $5 bills, notepads, and even an expensive graphical calculator. When he opened his stocking, Angelo couldn’t stop laughing, especially when he pulled out the tangerines. He thought it was the oddest collection of items he had ever received, but he loved it. “How do I thank them?” he asked.
This is the way of peace, small kindnesses to each other in everyday life: Giving to someone in need and realizing that he is a beautiful human being and child of God just like all of us.
Little did we know when he came to live with us in Gilroy that he would bring with him so much that would benefit us: Looking at our life through his eyes each day seems like a gift, and we are re-appreciating what makes this country so great. It must be what my immigrant ancestors experienced: The chance for a new life, the chance to live without fear … the chance to start over and make the life they dreamed of. The gratitude he gives is also such a gift to us; today he said that the help he is receiving is giving him new life. “I am under your umbrella,” he described it; “You are my second Creator.” Watch for those angels among us. One in the guise of Florence has left us for heaven, and another in the form of Angelo has come to stay here with us for awhile.
Kat Teraji’s column is published every Thursday in The Dispatch. You can reach her at
ka****@ea*******.net
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