Seems like everywhere you look, some old person is shaking their head and saying with that sage tone, “you don’t know how easy you have it.” But I yell inwardly, I don’t have it so easy. Nothing is easy. It seems like every aspect of life can be plagued with difficulty.  Decisions, problems, trouble, is at every turn. Far from easy right? Ah yes, far from easy indeed, as I type this in my own bedroom comfortable after a great supper, a relaxed evening in a climate-controlled house. A vehicle sits in the garage and if I decide to go somewhere, I can leave in less than two minutes. I have a rough idea of what tomorrow will hold, for sure that the bare necessities will be more than supplied. I know that on Sunday I will be in church, safe, which is a luxury I rarely stop to think about. Easy? I am beginning to think that perhaps I do have it easy. Maybe I’ll break the mold and not wait till I am old and gray to shake my head, chuckle a little, and say, “you don’t know how easy we have it.” So where does difficult become easy? How easy does something have to be before it can be said, “now that is easy.” A family comes to mind. Actually, they were already on my mind probably because they just left my house a half hour ago. This family, especially the parents could teach me something about easy. In many ways they are a normal family. There is the mom, the dad, three girls, and two boys. I do not know the ages of any of them, but I would guess the oldest child to be maybe 12. Is that 6^th grade? I do not know. Anyways, age is irrelevant in this rambling monologue, so we will leave it to rest. They have lived in this part of the USA for six or seven months now and seem to be fitting in quite nicely. Easy, right? Well maybe, but let’s take a closer look. They moved here from out west. California I think although it may have been Nevada. The dad had a number of different jobs out there. He delivered appliances, worked for FedEx, and for about a year was in a luxury hotel in Las Vegas as a manager of sorts. Easy? I’m beginning to think less so. But let’s take a step further back. What about the time before California and the western United States? That takes us to a different country on a different continent. Belgium. Brussels, Belgium to be exact. That is where the dad lived most of his life pre-U.S. That is where he met his wife, and it is where a lot of their story begins. I don’t know how long they lived there. I don’t know a lot of details about them, although I hope to discover more as their story unfolds. He grew up Muslim, and long story short, converted to Christianity around twenty years old. As we know this is very serious in the Muslim religion. Long story short again, he and his wife were forced to flee. To stay would have meant death. Easy? Far from it. As far from it as one can get. For them, it was what they had to do. Leave home in Belgium and move to America to save their own lives. Bounce around the western United States trying to find a better life and good home for their children. Settling in our corner of the world and now so very thankful for a Christian church, new friends, and a good school for their children. Would they say it’s been easy? I doubt it. Worth it? I think so. I hope I can have just a little piece of their courage, even though I will never face the challenges they have. It’s okay if it’s not easy, just make sure it is right.

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