"Trust is the glue of life. It’s the most essential ingredient in effective communication. It’s the foundational principle that holds all relationships."

-Stephen Covey

The neighborhood welcomed me with its crowded, crime ridden streets, its graffitied and dilapidated buildings, its smell of bus exhaust fumes and now-legal marijuana wafting through the air.

The apartment complex, filled with young families arriving as refugees, welcomed me with sparsely decorated rooms, curious and timid glances, and the rich aroma of spices from far away lands.

My charge was to offer in-person English lessons to these brave & beautiful people…specifically the children and women… as they arrived to our country just weeks, and in some cases days, before. Because one of the husbands spoke a bit of English, he was my first contact for getting the ball rolling. Men don’t co-mingle with strange women in this culture, so initially he agreed to meet and speak to me only with his back toward me. Over time, he did turn around; our conversation continuing and ending eye-to-eye. This leap of faith on his part may have never happened had I not taken deliberate steps to earn his trust. Prior to our meeting, I had done some homework that prepared me to greet him respectfully in his language, to wear clothing that would be found very appropriate, and to explain in a kind way what I was there with a desire to do, which was to gather up those interested in meeting several times a week for conversational English lessons. Knowing that his own wife and children would benefit greatly, he invited me inside to meet them and to discuss the opportunity with his wife present. Although I can’t be sure exactly what he said to her in their language, she smiled, we kissed one another on both cheeks, and she got very busy preparing food and setting it out on the floor (I quickly learned that sitting on furniture was definitely not a ‘thing’) for me to eat with them as their newborn slept on the twin bed beside us (the only furniture in their family room) and as their 4 and 5 year old kids peeked out in wonder from behind their young mom.

Using my new acquaintance’s bit of English and my bit of Pashto (ha…if only!) we worked out the details of when class would officially begin (the next day) , who would attend (all of the women and children) and where we would meet (right in their apartment, since the leasing office who had agreed that I could use their room as my classroom now wouldn’t be available ‘until  their electricity was hooked up’). Once that was all established, a call was made, and two more young moms entered the apartment with their small children. I was introduced, kissed again, and the information about our English class was conveyed. The ladies then quickly scurried off, returning to their own apartments in order to continue cooking the evening meal for their families.

What takes place over the course of the next weeks is so incredible I can hardly wait to share, but this is a series and, alas, will have to wait. Between then and now, I’d like us to all stop and consider the critical first step…the building of trust. Without it, none of the amazing things I’ll share with you over the next several articles would’ve ever unfolded. Was I eager to just jump right into teaching? Of course! Had I planned on the slow pace of going into the home, taking my shoes off, sitting on the floor to enjoy a leisurely meal, showing a picture of my own family and so forth, to build a connection? Not really. But, boy oh boy, I am so grateful that I took the time. In that afternoon, trust was established. And it wasn’t doled out by just anyone, but by people who, I eventually learned, left their country with only the clothes on their backs and the shoes on their feet. By people who left behind loved ones whom they may never see again. By people who are vulnerable and at the mercy of others in this new land. By people who would have every right to be skeptical. How humbling!

Can this be applied in the classroom? Of course. Yes, we’re all champing at the bit to dive right into that first lesson. We all feel the pressure to do so, as I did that very first day. All of our students deserve, though, that little bit of effort and time…even the time that we feel we don’t have…to learn that we care about them and that they can place their trust in us. As we all prepare for that first lesson this year, let’s remember that some of our very own students may be among those who, as you read this, are sitting on a floor, in an apartment, in a city, missing their special toy, their best friend, their favorite sibling, their parent. Take the time. You’ll be so glad you did.

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Want to find out how this story continues?

Stay tuned for the upcoming articles in our series:

The Refugee Project