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Stuart Revercomb

Stuart Revercomb is a marketing consultant and joyously married father of four children. He seems to remember someone once telling him he ought to be a writer. "The Unseen Here and Now" -- Thursdays.

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"Thursday's Fare"

I first laid eyes on Bred and Dina and their 4-year-old son, Aden, as they stepped off the jetway at Roanoke Regional Airport. They had been on planes and in airports for almost three days but were wide awake with adrenaline as they stepped out to see the new faces that would take them to their new home. The previous night had been spent at LaGuardia Airport in New York where they had discovered to their horror that smoking was "illegal" in the United States. No one was smoking and there were these big universal "No Smoking" signs everywhere. It was a fairy logical conclusion.

Bred hoped no one would find the carton of cigarettes stowed in his bag. Could he be deported? He wasn't sure.

When we arrived at the modest apartment that our small group had prepared for them, the tears flowed and hugs were again given to all. The overwhelming feeling they had was based on the fact that someone would be so nice as to let them stay here a couple of nights. It took a while to convince them that the apartment and all that was in it was theirs. But when we finally did, the hugging ceremony repeated itself for the third time. I remember thinking that this was going to be an emotional job to be sure.

But the biggest expression of amazement came when I (a smoker at the time) pulled out a cigarette and firing it up extended one towards Bred. His head jerked back on his long neck and his eyes blazed wide with shock, "Smoke?!" he exclaimed.

"Sure," I said.

He and Dina looked at each other in amazement and we all laughed long and hard as they struggled in halting English to tell of their plight and the very real fear of being deported for smuggling. Bred reached into the small green duffel that contained everything he owned in the world. He handed me a fresh pack of Bosnian cigarettes. I handed him my crumpled pack of Marlboros. I had no way of knowing it at the time, but it was symbolic of a what I would later come to know as the "paradox of discipleship" -- the unbalanced return we get in small service to others. More than a pack of not very good smokes, it was the beginning of what would be a friendship for life.

The next several weeks were difficult as our group did its best to settle the Sehovics into the day to day tasks of life, as well as to began preparing them for job interviews. The primary obstacle facing all of them was learning "A-mer-can," as Aden would say. I had read somewhere that writing the names of objects on Post-it notes and pasting them all over the house was a good idea. The "student" would not be able to take the note down until he or she could identify the item while the note was shielded from view. Dina was extremely proud of her new home and is a fastidious housekeeper, so when I explained the "new rule" to her, she squinted her eyes at me and said only half jokingly, "I not like this game and you know this Stuart. I learn these words fast." And she did. Within two days she could name virtually everything in the house and she made no small point of letting her husband know that she now knew more words than he.

Two days later I received the first of several "emergency" phone calls. I had told Bred to call me anytime of night with whatever problem he may have. It was about 11:30 p.m.

"Stu-airt"

"Yes"

"Der es a moose in the hoose."

"A moose in the house?" I exclaimed. What in the hell had happened? Was there a deer in the apartment? I had heard of them jumping through windows before. "What did you say?"

"Yes -- I tell you der es a moose in the hoose! Dina she is scared, very much fear, much afraid -- she stands on the su-fa and the moose is beneath."

I began to laugh pretty hard and then calming myself said, "Bred is their a MOUSE in the house?"

He repeated himself, "Yes a moose in the hoose." He began to laugh at the unexpected rhyme in English. He had no idea what a moose was.

"Get a broom and chase him out," I said. "What did you do with them in Bosnia?"

"We not have moose in the hoose in Bosnia." he replied

"Oh," I said, still trying to contain my laughter, lest he think I was laughing at him, which I wasn't.

"I will get this moose," he said, and then hung up.

Since the "night of the moose" we have had many hilarious moments together and many poignant ones as well. Bred would later tell me about losing his father and sister in the war and about the night he led Dina and Aden over the mountain range between Bosnia and Croatia as rifle shots and mortars sounded along the darkened ridges around them.

He spoke of Aden asking him if bombs would fall here, too, as he tucked him into bed that first night we met. He would also speak of the incredible sense of community that he and his neighbors had shared in the small town where he had built his house before the hate and mindless rage of civil war swept over the countryside like some unstoppable firestorm. It is a sense he has as yet fully recaptured here. But he speaks with excitement and devotion for the freedom and progressive spirit that is America at its best -- and he is immensely thankful.

He is thankful to Catholic World Services, Second Presbyterian Church and a man named Kirk Lunsford who thought helping him get here would be a good idea. He is thankful that he and Dina have been able to find good jobs that pay them well enough to have purchased their own home and two cars since they arrived five years ago. He is also thankful that his son will grow up in a safe and secure neighborhood with the promise of a quality education ahead of him.

Simply put, Bred and Dina are very thankful to be alive. Probably more so than most because they know how quickly things can change and how fragile life can be.

Thank you, guys, for the life giving example of your new beginning and the grace with which you have carried yourselves. I am truly blessed to count you as friends.

Now if you could just figure out how to handle a moose ...