Most of it is because the Burmese refugees we work with are the most colourful characters. We have a regular attendee named 'Sharkee' who will come in one day with her face painted eerily similar to a mime, or the next in a cowgirl outfit that is reminiscent of a bad Halloween costume choice. But her enthusiasm expressed through her style is little compared to her enthusiasm for being in Buffalo, helping her kids succeed in school, and bringing us food at work.
The Burmese are very warm people; I had an appointment to pick up a man for a sleep apnea study, but quickly discovered that I had the wrong address. As I whipped around the dark one-way streets of Buffalo, one of the children who spoke a small amount of English was trying to tell me the correct address. At last I drove up to the house, and looking up to the second floor, I saw 7 heads silhouetted against the living room lights. I tentatively raised my hand, and received an enthusiastic response as 14 hands jumped into the air to assure me that this was indeed their home.
My co-workers are also a source of humour. I am constantly referred to by our translator Nabil in his arabic accent as 'the doctor' or 'my dutch friend' after he discovered my background and love for the Netherlands (where he spent his youth). Who knew that across the continent I would still find someone to say 'Dooie!' to at the end of the day?
They recently tried to fool me into thinking that I received yet another parking ticket, since I've argued that my British Columbia license plate seems to cause enough confusion for the Buffalo Parking Ticket Violations Office that they can't track me down if I don't pay a fine. So when a bright pink slip appeared on my windshield, they were oddly enthusiastic about my bad luck, stating how often I seem to park on the wrong side of the road ('Do they not have roads in Canada?' Har har.). I walked out with a lady I was taking to an appointment, and with a small amount of worry, my hands opened the pink slip and discovered it was blank. I heard knocking on the office windows and saw my two coworkers inside, pointing at me and themselves, laughing, and surely feeling very good about themselves.
As I've past the consuming 'learning curve' of my work, I've found myself struggling with my position in Buffalo. I get waves of homesickness, or feeling very inadequate at 'life', or being emotionally and spiritually drained. But I've been learning in a very intimate way what it means to be faithful. While I may still feel like I am struggling to be a competent adult, let alone be responsible for the wellness of hundreds of refugees, I am learning how to give the responsibility to God. He will provide the moments of humour I so desperately need, He will provide the glimpses of a greater vision of his people that sustain me through bad phone conversations or language barriers, He will remain faithful to me as He has before I even began to grasp what it means to be faithful to Christ. Indeed, it has taken me these past two months to recognize my pride of self-sufficiency and that these burdens were not meant to be carried by me - instead, I am called to carry joy, and light.
This is actually something that is much harder - it goes against human nature to recognize and accept our neediness. It is much more comfortable to work on being more self-sufficient, of gaining control on each aspect of our life - like our jobs, our health, or even our relationships. But there is freedom to be gained when we accept our utter depravity - we were not made to be alone. We were not created to 'work' on becoming more independent. Joy and Light are carried into the world by children. So children we must become - rediscovering glory in the ordinary moments.
