Up Close and Personal

Thursday, October 22nd

Today we had class in the morning until noon, and then I decided to spend the afternoon at the Imperial War Museum. I thought I could finish this museum pretty efficiently assuming I wouldn’t be drawn to read all the war-related plaques, but I was wrong. (I should have known since I’ve realized myself to be one of “those people” who take a lot longer than others in any museum.) The Imperial War Museum turned out to be much more than I thought it would have been, giving a very well-rounded perspective about war on the battlefront and the home-front. Yes, it covers the machinery, the tanks, the ammunition, etc. But it also includes the uniforms, the daily accessories of war-life, a walk-through trench experience, many personal letters, a replica of the “Little Boy” atomic bomb, a “Children at War Experience” exhibit, and a Holocaust exhibit as well. There’s no way I could go into detail about everything I saw except to say that it covered WWI, WWII, the in-between years, the Vietnam War, the Korean War, the Cold War, and more that I had never even heard of! There’s also no way I could have absorbed it all even in the 3 hours I spent there. I will share with you, however, my memorable experience of walking through the “Children at War Experience” which tracks the evacuation process of British children out of London to the countryside or even to America as a safety precaution. (Here’s a piece of a more formal journal I wrote):

It was the letter in the case that shocked me the most, not the old photographs, newspaper clippings, children’s clothes or toys – which were necessary artifacts in order to tell this “Children at War Experience”…but the letter signed “Mommy and Daddy” written to their daughter, one of the thousands of children evacuated from Britain, that made it the most real. ‘Mommy and Daddy’ had written their little girl a matter-of-fact, yet surprisingly hopeful note considering she was being sent across the Atlantic to her aunt in Toronto. “Do you want me to send you that recent photograph?” mom had asked; but after one glance at the newspaper clipping displayed adjacent to the letter I realized this letter was never received. Instead, the girl had died on her cross-Atlantic adventure due to a torpedo sent off from a German U-boat that killed many of the evacuee children aboard.

Moving along through the exhibit I read the quotes on the wall said by evacuees who found themselves in foreign places: “I’d never seen so much food on the table”, “It’s cold and far from home”, “There’s so much space!” Often times it was a joyful and freeing experience to escape the dirty confines of inner-city London in exchange for the open countryside, fresh air, and food on the table. Other times the children were treated as obligatory appendages to their new family. Turning the corner past another case of artifacts I entered the top floor of a 1940s-style constructed home, which evoked the home-front war experience for the children. A couple bedrooms, a bathroom; I walked down the narrow staircase; a kitchen, a living room.

The living room was the last on the constructed path through the home and was dominated by a large grated cage that looked like it could have fit maybe four people uncomfortably. Then I noticed I had also walked in on a conversation the couple in front of me was having with an elderly woman seated in a chair. “Yes, that’s where we slept. Yes…” the elderly woman said as I squeezed past in order to exit the house and move onto other parts of the museum. However, upon leaving the house I saw a sign which read: “Please inquire at the information desk when the next evacuee will be here. They’re happy to speak with you!” What? I thought, replaying the dialogue I had so easily dismissed as I had left house in a hurry. Suddenly weighing the choice of stationary museum artifacts against hearing a personal historical account in person was an easy choice to make. Evacuee now, museum later. I turned around and reentered the house.

“So can you tell me a little about your story?” I asked the woman abruptly, completely depending on the “They’re happy to speak with you!” section of the sign outside. This woman proceeded to tell me how she really had slept in that massive cage along with “the man and his wife and their daughter” as she put it. Evacuated out of London at age 11, this woman had left her parents behind, though she did keep in contact with them. I found it most strange that she punctuated her commentary with odd laughter. It wasn’t funny, but maybe it’s like my mom always says: you can either laugh or cry so you might as well laugh. “It’s a good thing we slept in their too” she continued, “because one night the roof fell in right over the pillows of where we would have been sleeping; and the same night I needed to pee, but the husband wouldn’t let me go – good thing though because the whole area outdoors from the house to the toilet had been gassed…I would have been dead before I got there!”

“Well, thank you for sharing your story with me,” I said, trying to end the conversation as gracefully as possible. She smiled and I exited the house again thinking for a moment that I had just gotten more than my money’s worth for the museum until I realized that it was free. I definitely hadn’t walked into the grand entrance, complete with hanging planes, large tanks, submarines, and the “Little Boy” atomic bomb replica expecting to experience wartime life on the home-front as opposed to the front lines, much less interact with history.

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Later that evening our group was supposed to meet out at the Arab Christian Center across town for another meeting with some of the Arab Christians we had met in September with DR. I think all of us went not knowing what to expect almost as much as the first time since Mark Bruce (our “new” professor) hadn't been there and we didn't necessarily know what other questions to ask. However, everything worked out very well despite the fact that our host seemed to think that we were going to be a completely different group of students than last time. We heard more about how to talk to Arab Muslims about Christianity. One individual talked a lot about the importance of love as well as knowledge of Christianity and Islam, but most of all love, they said. This individual’s spouse even touched a tad on politics mentioning how we need to love Osama Bin Laden and pray for him; we can fight against his sin like crazy, but we need to love him as a sinner.

I really enjoyed hearing a woman speak in particular. One new thing she mentioned was the pride that Muslims have in themselves/their religion, so it might be very hard to tell if you have shared something about Christianity that has impacted them personally because they most likely won't show you how they feel. Furthermore, I asked her to speak about her journey as a woman, coming from Islam and converting to Christianity. In response she mainly mentioned 1) her incredible freedom in Christ, and 2) the fact that God, as her Father, respects her as a woman; she spoke about discovering how Jesus respected her enough to die for her, which was an interesting perspective.

Another subject we touched on was the difference between our God and Allah. The consensus seemed to be that they are two totally different beings; this came about because of how the characteristics of God and Allah are different. For example, Allah is never called love in the Koran, and in fact Allah is called a deceiver. Our host went on to share his personal belief that Allah is actually Satan. He said this because of how similar Islam and Christianity are, yet Islam is just a distorted copy. He related this to how Adam and Eve were deceived in the Garden of Eden by Satan twisting the truth of what God had said. I found this view to be very interesting and convincing in my personal opinion. Overall it was a very fulfilling and thought-provoking evening. I’m glad we went again.

Later that night I got the chance to call one of my friends for their birthday and had a great, long conversation that topped off my wonderful day. Success.