Humbling

This past Wednesday, I was humbled. It doesn't happen often (which is should), but it was an experience.

This summer, I'm working and living at my parent's farm. Today, their furnace got cleaned by a man with a thick accent. He was very nice and did a great job (I'm sure). About a half hour or so before he was finished, he came up to have me turn the furnace on (turn up the heat). He and I chatted a little, and he apologized for his accent. I didn't mind- he was very kind. He asked me where I thought he was from. I first said Poland- wrong. Hungary? Czech? Wrong again. He's from Bosnia.

He has been in the US for about 20 years and has been a plumber in the area. Prior to coming to the US, he worked as a plumber all over the Mediterranean and even worked in Japan and China. He said that when the Bosnian war broke out, half his family died. He asked me, "Do you know (of) Hiroshima?" I said yes. He said that is what his hometown is like- nothing left but rubble.

He also said that he had been a prisoner of war. He didn't get into that- I think he said "long story", but boy I'd like to hear it some day. I've met briefly POW's from World War II and maybe Vietnam, but no one from a war that I remember reading and hearing about in my lifetime. I have no idea what it is like to live in a war zone, never mind loosing my whole family and being a POW. I am so blessed and so humbled.