Remembering Najila

Last night I suddenly remembered Najila. Singing a song about the broken, the hungry–and her face popped into my brain. I met Najila in Greece this summer, but her home was Afghanistan, and mine was America. We crossed paths for a day only, and yet she matters immensely to me. And realizing last night that I had forgotten her face for weeks, I was frustrated with myself. Really frustrated. Almost angry. I don’t want to forget her. I spend my days answering questions about the foods I ate and the sea I swam in, but I rarely talk about the people, and they are what I long to talk about, long to remember and pray for.

I hesitate to even share this, because I want to treasure rather than publicize my memories with Najila. However, in my effort to remember, I tell the world: I have not forgotten my friend Najila yet. Help me to remember. Ask me about her and her family sometime.  Or about the people in general who I briefly did life with this summer. They matter a heck of a lot more than the food.

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