A Dependable Memory

In honor of the 4th of July I am going to repost something I wrote last year. This post is about an experience I had almost 20 years ago but each 4th of July the memory comes back to me so powerfully I feel that it happened yesterday. This year is no exception. In fact, the memory is has been so strong this morning that I was just about to sit down and write about it. But then I remembered that I wrote something last year - why do it again? Here it is...

In a college writing class, I was given an assignment that challenged me to visualize how my life's memories are stored in my brain. Does that make sense? I decided that a room filled with wooden filing cabinets seemed to fit. I add that the cabinets are wooden because those metal, gray cabinets are so cold and ugly. Mine are a beautiful golden oak color. Try as I might, I can't seem to make it more creative or less office like than that. I can visualize some nice plants and flowers sitting on top of the cabinets which helps with the aesthetics of things. :)

As I open the filing cabinets, all of my memories are filed away nicely, a little dust collecting here and there but a few files seem to be almost glowing with importance. A light is emanating from these files that make them sort of dance around a bit in the filing cabinet – begging to be pulled and remembered. Every 4^th of July since July 4^th, 1994, one such file seems to wiggle its way free, bursting open as it does, filling my heart and mind with its light.

This is the memory contained within this file…

I was 23-years-old and serving in the California Fresno Mission. My mission call had assigned me to learn to speak Lao in the MTC so that I could serve the refugees from Laos (over by Thailand and Cambodia) that had flooded the United States after the Vietnam War. It is such a long, sad story as to why they needed to flee their country. Some of the tales are gut wrenching and some are so horrific I can’t even bring myself to repeat them. Laos is still under communist rule – it is still (in 2010!) a place where the Gospel of Jesus Christ cannot be taught.

At the time of this memory, I was in Modesto, California, sitting in church. My companion and I served a small Lao group that existed within a larger English speaking ward. We would sit at the front of the chapel each week during sacrament meeting with headphones and translate the meeting for the Lao people who were also wearing headphones. I know our translating was distracting to the English speaking members but I know most of them accepted the Lao people and did their best to make them feel welcome.

I also knew it was hard to understand why the Lao people did some of the things they did. They didn’t dress the same, their food was different, their cooking spices made them smell a little different, and many of the adults did not speak English at all. For reasons I will not get into here, their teenagers seemed to gravitate toward gangs. Also, the transition from Buddhism to Christianity is a difficult one and so some of the Lao members never seemed to be as converted as the Caucasian members had hoped they would be. These and other problems, made full acceptance of the refugees hard for the other members. I had been on the mission long enough for the Spirit to help me understand that I was sent on a mission TO the Lao people but I was also sent to be an ambassador FOR them to help others understand them. (I feel that responsibility has never been lifted from me.)

This particular Sunday happened to be July 4^th. It was fast Sunday and during Sacrament meeting, I had translated testimony after testimony of the Caucasian members who were grateful to live in the United States of America because of the incredible freedoms we enjoy. My heart started to burn within me. Something was stirring that wanted to be shared but I wasn’t quite sure what. 

During Relief Society that day, when we were given opportunity to share our testimonies, I found out what was in my heart, yearning to be set free. I literally felt as if I was being pulled out of my chair and turned to face the rest of the class. Out of my mouth came the words to a poem I had memorized before leaving for the mission: 

"Give me your tired, your poor,

Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me,

I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"

After reciting the poem, I related it the refugees from Laos – these huddled masses yearning to breathe free, these wretched refuse, homeless, tempest tossed children of our Father in Heaven and how they were brought here by the Hand of God so they could have freedom but more importantly, so they could learn about Jesus Christ and His Great Plan of Happiness for them. In all honesty, I don’t remember what I said. I just knew that the words coming from my mouth were not my own. They were powerful words and they left an impression on my heart that still remains to this day.

After the meeting several people made comments to me about the thoughts I shared. I clearly remember one woman saying, “Sister Davis, I will not soon forget that testimony. No I will not.”

Somehow I knew I wouldn’t either.

There is not a day that goes by that I don't think of some lesson learned from the beautiful Lao, Hmong, Mien, Cambodian, and Thai people whom I served during that short 18 months. I know I was sent to teach them who Jesus Christ is and what He did for them but they taught me how to follow Him. What an honor it was to be there among them as we learned the gospel of Jesus Christ together. I will truly be eternally grateful - for it changed me, eternally.

Side note: Does this have any implications toward the number of people trying to sneak into the United States illegally so they can try to have a better life? I agree it should be done legally and I am NOT trying to get into a political debate here. But maybe if we use the Statue of Liberty’s poem to define them, we can see them as people, not villains. Poverty and oppression can make people do things they wouldn't ordinarily do. I DO NOT have the answers and I DO NOT know how to solve the problem. But I do KNOW that the Lord has a plan for each one of us for we are all His children and I look forward, with great anticipation, to the day we are not separated from one another by imaginary lines drawn in the desert like the tape my mother used to put across the floor of the bedroom I shared with my sister so that we wouldn’t fight so much. Sometimes I wonder if our Father in Heaven is just shaking His head at us and saying under His breath, “When will they ever grow up?”