Designer Diaries 004

Blessing

In my Designer Diaries series, I try to provide little snapshots of my job as a designer for Humble Design Detroit, a nonprofit that partners with local shelters and agencies to furnish and decorate homes (using donated goods) for families and individuals after they receive housing. My design partner and I are one of three teams at our location. Together, we furnish three homes a week. I share more about our process in Designer Diaries 001, Designer Diaries 002, and Designer Diaries 003.

Refugees: a person who has been forced to leave their country in order to escape war, persecution, or natural disaster.

Political turmoil in their country led to an unsafe living situation. The serious medical needs of the father and son uprooted the family to be strangers in a foreign country, living in an empty house, and at the mercy of strangers. In all the pain of change and uncertainty, the mother could only cry. Cry because coming here wasn’t her plan, just a necessary step in a journey that we hope leads to healing.

Because of the language barrier, asking for their needs and wants involved a survey they filled out with their caseworker.

Who will occupy what room?

Favorite color? Interests? Hobbies?

Place an X next to the items you need for the kitchen.

Would you like a live plant? Cleaning supplies?

The whole week, for me, felt like a race against time— an hourglass sifting the sand in the situation with my own father. On Deco day that Friday, the caseworker asked if we could be done an hour sooner to help them make a doctor’s appointment that just opened up. Little did I know, the timing would coincide with the call I would receive to come home. Time was almost up.

My design partner did most of the work that week, letting me trail behind to pick out the place settings for the dining table, and the items for the older boy's room. All while I fielded the updates about my dad in our family chat.

“You can just go if you need to,” my coworker told me gently more than once. But too much was still unknown, and things weren’t bad until suddenly, they were.

I perused the aisles of donations for items to decorate with and found the painted eggs the volunteers set aside from the other items. They reminded me of the painted wooden eggs my dad brought home for us from across the world on one of his mission trips. I picked out a few to display on the coffee table and took a picture of them hoping to share this piece of past and present with my dad when he was well.

The family was overjoyed at those delicate orbs at the reveal, marveling at the little reminder of home. They loved the curtains and the bedding, the sofa and chairs, and tears flowed for different reasons: blessings.

Before we left, the caseworker announced they wanted to sing a traditional blessing over us from their country in gratitude for what the family received. I did not understand the words but carried the sentiment behind them with me back to the warehouse. When we arrived, I received a call that contained words like end of life, heart failure, and liver failure. The blessing would linger as my tears carried me out the door of our building, across the miles, and to his hospital room, where I would say goodbye.

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Blessing: a beneficial thing for which one is grateful; something that brings well-being.

In the middle of pain and loss, the strangers were blessed by strangers, so they gave a blessing to the stranger who would go on to experience pain and loss. They will never know the value of that blessing, just as I may never know about their healing or recovery. We each gave without knowing the end result. Could there ever be an end if we just kept giving as we received?

I work at a nonprofit that blesses people three times a week. We can only do this through the generosity of people who bless us with their donations. It goes on as long as people give, and as long as some need to receive. Find out more here.

When God’s people are in need, be ready to help them. Always be eager to practice hospitality.

~Romans 12:13