Blessons: How an Afternoon with Syrian Refugees taught me: Not to Judge

Will somebody please call Sara?

She always does this!

Moonlighting at a doctors office.

Thrown into the mix as needed.

Figuring it out as I go. Lulls lead to writing time…

Call Sara.

I’ll be there in 5 or less.

Okay!

Tell the doctor.
Okay.

Long time passes. Nothing.
We’re all still here, waiting on Sara. It’s Saturday.

She’s over an hour late.

Finally, Hello!!

I scorn her face.
Do my best to look away. Saudi Princess.

Her perfume clogs my nostrils. Now I have to look away.

Pee yew!  

Do the thing, she goes to meet with doctor.

12:40 Knock Knock.

Whose knocking?!? This is a doctors office.

There’s no knocking at a doctors office.

Oh. 

 Hello!!

My reason for being.  Here today at least.

A whole family of Syrian Refugees…

No ingles. No espanol either.

Shit.

Who is the a translator?

More refugees arrive. Omg! Okay!!

Sara, she’s the one. She can speak the language.

Her appointment is almost finished. Hooray!

No way! Divine timing.  At its finest.

Every thing is always just as it should be. Twenty people came through the door. My manager decided to speak to them in a French accent.  The whole office snapped to attention.

Sara’s tardiness was our saving grace!

The only way we all were able to succeed is thanks to her.

& this is what we call a Blesson.

Blesson: (v.)  a blessing which duels as a lesson.

Or, vice versa

: ) ( : 

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