That time when you're in a new smallish group from church. You've never met any of these gals before, and you suddenly and irrevocably break down in tears, apologizing through them, trying to gain control of these emotions that have clearly over exceeded their limits.
That was me last night. The first meeting in a small group at church. My husband and I signed up to help "teach" English to non-native English speakers. An ESL type of class.
Last night the men went next door to work on resumes for a couple of the guys.
The gals, another native English speaker and I, and a woman from Iran and one from Iraq, both could communicate a little in English. I wouldn't say well. That is why we were there.
Thankfully, Patty, was a teacher for 20 some years and came prepared with a sheet of questions we could go thru.
And, right in the middle of that, my tears came. They broke the limits of what I think is socially appropriate. They fell anyway, and I had to explain to those surprised eyes looking back at me.
I told them my dad came to America when he was 16 and knew no English. He had to be taught just like this. I told them I have Swedish family that recently came to America, and sometimes we struggled through words just like we were doing.
It just hit me. It really touched me to be sitting there helping this woman from Iraq and this woman from Iran say, "My name is ______. My address is_____.
It made me think of Dad. The tears would not stay inside. They just wouldn't.
And, these lovely women understood.
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Thanks for stopping by today, friend!
I hope you are blessed!
Anne
Linking up today with other lovely writers at Kate Motaung's place for 5 minutes of writing just for the fun of it. No edits, no worries. Head on over to read what others have written on the prompt, "limit".
That was me last night. The first meeting in a small group at church. My husband and I signed up to help "teach" English to non-native English speakers. An ESL type of class.
Last night the men went next door to work on resumes for a couple of the guys.
The gals, another native English speaker and I, and a woman from Iran and one from Iraq, both could communicate a little in English. I wouldn't say well. That is why we were there.
Thankfully, Patty, was a teacher for 20 some years and came prepared with a sheet of questions we could go thru.
And, right in the middle of that, my tears came. They broke the limits of what I think is socially appropriate. They fell anyway, and I had to explain to those surprised eyes looking back at me.
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| Swedish cousins Jan Gunner, Angelica and Ing-Marie |
I told them my dad came to America when he was 16 and knew no English. He had to be taught just like this. I told them I have Swedish family that recently came to America, and sometimes we struggled through words just like we were doing.
It just hit me. It really touched me to be sitting there helping this woman from Iraq and this woman from Iran say, "My name is ______. My address is_____.
It made me think of Dad. The tears would not stay inside. They just wouldn't.
And, these lovely women understood.
*****************************************************
Thanks for stopping by today, friend!
I hope you are blessed!
Anne
Linking up today with other lovely writers at Kate Motaung's place for 5 minutes of writing just for the fun of it. No edits, no worries. Head on over to read what others have written on the prompt, "limit".
