When someone tells you their garage is filled with more bread than a small army could eat, what is to be done? Rather than shrug my shoulders and hope some other generic person finds an answer, I was struck by the arrow of an unexpected solution.
Recently, an important friend from Burma began leading a church in Kansas City for a nomadic group of refugees who finally found a home. In ancient days, the Karen wandered through south Asia and happened to loose their ancient book along the way. After finally finding a home in what is now called Myamar, the hapless nomads were swept into the wildfires of a modern Holecaust. One group left the war on the weak to find themselves in the ice strewn neighborhoods of Kansas City, Kansas. Now the refugees must once again build something beautiful from the ashes of injustice.
With a close friend facing such immense need, I set out to find how my little could help a lot. My mission began with a trunk full of bread, a few winter clothes, and a native Karen shirt. After seeing such beautiful families, I realized the bread was only a side item to a more important entrée. More valuable than any carbohydrate, I returned home with the treasure of friendship's love. Having gone to give somehow I received. May God bless the Karen!
