I normally resist posting anything of a political nature.  There are too many different people, cultures, opinions and believes in this world for my words to make everyone happy.  Some of my words will make people angry. Sometimes though, words need to escape my brain and my heart.  Today is such a day.

Yesterday I again sat in horror and watched terror unfold in another place I love.  A place where I have friends.  A place where I frequently stand, with my family, with my friends, with my children. Yesterday I, and a big group of our friends, received a text from a friend at Zaventem, a panicked text.  She was there, she was nearby, she was okay, her children were home, she was traveling for work.  Then nothing till early this morning. It makes your heart stop.

I am a former missionary.  Not just in a foreign country, helping feed & clothe the poor & starving, but also at home in the San Francisco Bay Area.  An incredibly wealthy area, filled with mansions the size of small palaces, garages built for 18+ cars, private swimming bowls, movie theaters, and playgrounds sized for adults in the backyards of people who have too much.  In that same area there were, there are, families sharing a one-bedroom house. Multiple families sharing a one-bedroom house.  They do this in 8-to-12 hours shifts. It breaks my heart.

Now I am here in Germany, in one of the most beautiful, well-cared for, efficient countries I’ve ever seen.  My last six years here have been amazing. Safe.  Happy.  And then, suddenly, life changed. Last year refugees starting coming over the borders. Not one or two, or in small handfuls, but streams of refugees. Thousands of refugees.  Millions.

War is a terrible thing.  Loss of freedom is a terrible thing. I can understand escaping it.  I cannot understand why now. Why so many.  Why there are all these young, healthy, fit men coming here.  The news is not accurate.  My own eyes have seen nothing but healthy, fit, disrespectful, angry young men.  We have 40 in our village of 500.  They spit at women. They refuse to speak to them. Their disdain for us is palpable. Our local crime rate, small as it is, has gone up. They do not accept offers of help from women.  I do not believe they are here for good reasons.

I do not doubt there are refugees escaping these same men I now see in my village. I would not, I do not, want to live around them.  They have no respect for other cultures or believes, only their culture, their believe is correct. They happily take the money, the free housing, the food, the German government gives them, and then insist the Germans change to accept them.  Or they, we, are racist.  They use our own political over-correctness against us. They do not accept the culture in the land they now call home. We must accept them. We must become them.

I do not have a better solution.  I strongly believe in saving people being persecuted. Tortured. Terrorized.  I do not believe in letting in the persecutors, the torturers, the terrorists.  Sadly, there is no good way to discern between the two.

Already there are more controls at airports, railstations, borders.  Already there are armed guards in public places.  Already, as my friends say, “it looks like war.” The few, evil, men & women that make these acts of terror are sowing not just fear, anger and hatred but they are setting back years, decades, centuries of peace and understanding between people.  People like me.

Where once I was young, idealistic, eager to help those less fortunate, I am now cynical. I see that many of the suspected terrorists are not newly immigrated refugees but citizens of European nations.  Even European born.  Yet their roots, their anger, their war reaches back to those same countries and places that are now sending millions of refugees our way.

I hate that I have such mistrust in my heart.

Brussels-01

Belgian Flag at Brussels Grand Place

Brussels-01b

Built in 1698 at Brussels Grand Place

Brussels-02

Walking into Brussels Grand Place

Brussels-03

The iconic Manneke Pis; a tiny statue, a big symbol of Brussels & Belgium

Brussels-04

Me & Belgian fries in Brussels… I’m sorry France, but these are better!

Brussels-05

My family at the Royal Galleries of Saint Hubert, Brussels

Brussels-06

Tess & Zoë leaving Brussels from the Central Train Station