I never intended to share this story, truly. My hope was to assist quietly, to observe and appreciate those dedicating themselves to a noble cause. I aimed to contribute in whatever modest way I could, then retreat back into my own life until the next time the issue arose. However, I find myself unable to think about anything else lately. Their faces come to me in the night—weariness, joy, sorrow, and gratitude all reflected in their eyes.
It began with a simple dinner. After spending a summer away, my family was eager to reconnect with our neighbors, to share stories of holidays, children, and daily life. Yet our conversation swiftly veered onto a more somber path. They, too, seemed to feel the weight of it all. Even amidst everyday chatter, the reality of refugees escaping conflict in Syria, Afghanistan, and Iraq pressed heavily on our minds. We had encountered the news through articles and social media, but now we were hearing firsthand accounts from friends who were actively volunteering at train stations to assist those in need.
Their passion ignited our curiosity. When it was time for them to leave, I felt a surge of gratitude when one neighbor, Sarah, invited me to join her on a volunteer outing. My husband, Michael, went with her that night, and I stayed home, filled with a mix of anticipation and anxiety. When he returned in the early hours, I could hardly wait to hear his stories, but I hesitated, torn between wanting to know and fearing what I might learn.
As he recounted his experiences, I lay awake, my mind racing with thoughts of a mother and her children, sleeping in a park, and a father standing guard, ever vigilant for their safety. So when Sarah extended her invitation again, I felt compelled to accept, despite my nerves.
In the beginning, I questioned my purpose there. What could I offer that dedicated volunteers weren’t already providing? Then I heard whispers of an arriving family with small children. I looked up just in time to see them cross the platform, nearly collapsing under the weight of their journey. The mother cradled a tiny baby, likely born during their harrowing trek, while her other three children clung to her, one sleeping atop their only backpack.
I instantly connected with the mother, despite our differences. I had never been in her situation, yet I recognized the sorrow etched on her face, the tears pooling in her eyes. She was both comforted and burdened by her children, longing to rest yet unable to be apart from them. Even without words, I sensed her exhaustion and her desire for a brief respite.
When her youngest child whimpered, I could see her instinct to soothe him, but she was too fatigued. I offered to hold the little one, and she gratefully nodded, patting the ground beside her. Moments later, as I rubbed the child’s back to help him drift off to sleep, I felt a profound sense of connection.
I noticed how heavy the baby felt in my lap and how her eyes lit up when I placed him back into her arms. The way she buried her face into his neck, showering him with kisses, revealed the depth of her love. It was an exhausted love, one I understood all too well.
Recently, my son Caleb has been unwell, clinging to me as if I were his lifeline. For days, he needed nothing but me, leaving little room for separation, even to fulfill basic needs. When I attempted to take my other children to church, yearning for a moment of peace, I faced an uphill battle as Caleb sobbed, terrified to be apart from me. Ultimately, I realized that while I needed a break, he needed my presence more.
Love can be both effortless and exhausting. It demands everything, even when it feels like there is nothing left to give. This is the love I recognized in that mother. She needed no words for me to understand that she simply required a helping hand, a brief moment of relief.
In that train station, as we navigated the chaos with weary children in tow, I understood that her struggle was not merely an act of survival; it was an act of love. She was doing everything she could to protect her children, even if it meant sacrificing her own comfort.
That night, looking into the mother’s eyes, I felt a profound sense of shared humanity. I understood my own privilege in a way I hadn’t before. I realized that, at our core, we are not so different, regardless of our circumstances.
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