The Girl, the Jacket, and the Lesson

“In these bodies we will live. In these bodies we will die.

And where you invest your love, you invest your life.”

Awake My Soul, Mumford and Sons   

A LITTLE BACKGROUND

Well, there has been a lot in the news, this past week, about the refugees (specifically at the Greek/Macedonian border). With Croatia and Serbia both deciding to only accept refugees from Syria, Iraq, and Afghanistan, those from other countries are stuck in a geo-political quagmire. Macedonia followed suit, and is only allowing refugees from those three countries into the camp. Because of communication issues, political issues, and all around confusion with the situation, refugees and migrants from many countries are still coming.  So, when those from the countries that aren't accepted arrive at the border, they are not permitted entry. This becomes a particularly messy problem when they can't go back, because Greece won't permit them.  This week, alone, there are over 1,500 refugees stuck in the "neutral zone" between the two countries.  The neutral zone is nothing other than a rocky field, guarded by police on both sides. No infrastructure, no food (unless one of the relief agencies is able to deliver it - which is always a dance because it's in between countries), no shelter, and most frustratingly, no communication.  The police and military on either side are unable to make decisions and also unable to communicate with the people.  The need for interpreters is great. Tensions have been rising, as many of you have probably seen, on videos that have made their rounds on Facebook.

FAST FORWARD

So, Zo and I arrived at the camp on Saturday, around 2 PM.  On the 2 hour drive, we noticed (for the first time) several groups of refugees walking down the highway.  Strange, we thought.

We had a lot of supplies to deliver. We noticed, immediately that all of the people that were in laying in sleeping bags (outside the fence), the week before were gone. Big UNHCR tents had been installed outside the fence, but there were very few people inside.  We asked where everyone went.  The workers said that half of them ran away and the other half were taken back to the neutral zone, to await a decision from the governments.

 

SUPPLIES

The supply shed was almost full, with jackets, rain boots for kids, and socks, etc. It was obvious that a corporation had made some donations. For that, we were thankful.  We unloaded the gloves, diaper wipes, winter hats, etc (and we were happy to see that the supplies we bought weren't duplicating the items they had).

KIDS TENT

We filled our pockets with mini chocolate bars, like we always do, and headed for one of the two kids' tents.  Something was off.  We stepped inside and started asking questions about the week (just like we always do).  While we were talking to the staff, a group of 5-6 children, the oldest being about 8, came running into the tent. They immediately surrounded the worker, dropped to their hands and knees and started grabbing anything they could get their hands on.  Anything and everything. Diapers, wipes, bottles, clothes.  Everything.  Then they would jump up, hands full, and run out of the tent.  It happened over and over, while we tried, in vain, to get them to stop. I walked outside and started handing out candies. Not a single smile. The children were wild-eyed and acting like desperate animals. Then they started running up behind me and trying to steal chocolates out of my pockets. Nothing like this has ever happened before. They didn't understand any English.  They weren't listening. It was chaotic. I went back inside the tent, and then the older girls started coming in, with the children. Asking for so many things.  Pointing to everything we had. They were shivering. (It was quite cold - about 46 degrees and very windy)  I found a toddler that was in need, so I went back to the supply shed to retrieve warm clothes for him.  When I walked into the tent, holding a pair of sweat pants and socks, two separate teenage/women grabbed them out of my hands.

I had to physically grab them back to give them to the child that I was helping at the moment.

One worker was holding a bottle, trying to communicate with a man holding a baby, when a little boy about 6 years old, ran past, grabbed the bottle out of his hand and fled the tent.  The worker had to chase the boy down and take the bottle back.

At one point, while I tried to help a woman and her baby, a teenage girl tapped on my shoulder and asked for a hat.  "I don't have one," I said. "For children, only."  She had no idea what I was saying. She wouldn't leave. She just kept pointing to her head. And shivering.  She was in the way. I was busy. So, to get her to leave, I took the brand new winter hat off my head and handed it to her. She smiled, and walked away.

Then the men joined in. They would bring in children, and ask for shoes. We would say "no, they have shoes" and they would take them out of the tent, and bring them back without shoes on. The same children. And then tell us they lost the shoes.  They were taking everything, even items that didn't fit them or they had several of.  It was out of control.

And, to be honest, I was furious. (I even told Zo that if I knew Farsi, I would ask for my hat back.)

One other "moment" happened while we were there. I will tell you about it shortly.  But first, I want you to understand the state of my heart and my attitude.

We left, after about 90 minutes. And me, being the dainty, quiet woman I am, gave Zo an earful the entire way to the van.

"These are not refugees. These are animals."  

"The Syrians are better." 

"This people group is not cool. Not cool at all."  

"Not a single smile from a child. Not a thank you for a chocolate."

"Did you see that kid grab the pants out of my hand?!?"

"How in the heck to I blog this????? No one will EVER give us another donation to help refugees if I tell them what happened today. And I wouldn't blame them."

The entire way home, I was mad. But I also had a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach.  I knew what it was, but I couldn't voice it.  We got home, took the kids out for dinner, and settled in for the night. Still, the pit was there. Ever tugging. I tried, unsuccessfully, to ignore it.

You see, it was that girl. The one with the hat.....no.....with MY hat. She might have been sixteen years old. She was with the group that was stealing and grabbing. And she had my hat. Yes, she was shivering. She had no socks on.  Her clothes were a thin polyester material.  But she was really bugging me. She kept following me around. And asking for things.  But we couldn't communicate.  And then. She asked me for a jacket.  "No, I don't have one. I'm sorry."  While I thought to myself, "Now, go away! Stop staring and smiling at me!" She just stood there. Shivering. And she touched the sleeve of my jacket. And I was really mad.  But, I was taught well, and I smiled and said, "No, I'm sorry. I don't have a jacket for you."  Still she stared at me. And she did it. She tugged on my sleeve again. And I looked into her eyes and realized that she was asking for my jacket. And I walked away.

I knew it. The moment I did it. Sure, I had a ton of reasons why I didn't need to give her my jacket.  It's the only one I had. It's cold. I have to stay warm to stand here, and help the rest of these people, right?  Does she even really need it? Will she use it? Will my jacket end up on the side of the road, not being used by anyone (myself, included)?  She will probably toss it to the side, like many of them do, when it gets too hot and difficult to carry heavy jackets.

But, honestly, the biggest "reason" I repeated to myself was:  "She doesn't deserve it." 

That woman/child walked away, without a jacket, because I didn't think she deserved mine.  You see, I had judged an entire people group, based on one encounter with 50 of them.  And I had deemed them to be unworthy. Unworthy of our supplies. Unworthy of our help.  Unworthy of the chocolates. Unworthy of my hat. My jacket.....unworthy of my love.

I cried as I told Zo of my unforgiving heart.  I cried as I asked God to forgive me for my selfish and disgusting attitude. I cried as I realized that I lost the ability to show Love, at that moment, in that tent, to the people around me.  I cried because I knew that I couldn't ask that girl to forgive me. And I couldn't fix it. I couldn't find her, and give her the jacket.  I couldn't make it right.

And then Zo reminded me, that because of my broken heart and because of His great love for me, God had already forgiven me. Thank God for His wonderful work, even as I am still trying to accept it.

So please, hear my heart. The people this past Saturday had some major issues.  They weren't dignified, and polite, and "cultured" (whatever that means).  They grabbed things out of our hands. They stole from us and others. But that doesn't change the need. Actually, if anything, it solidifies the need.

The need for help.

The need for love.

Ultimately, the need for Truth.

And so, we press on.

Reflections....

"Therefore go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey everything I have commanded you." 

Matthew 28:19

If I've read that verse once, I've read it a thousand times. I've taught it to song, during Kid's Worship. I've written it. I've typed it. I know it inside and out. If you have spent any amount of time in an Evangelical church, I'm sure you can recite it by heart, as well.  But I missed a key part. Sure, I know it. But I completely missed it. I'll give you a little background.

I was raised as part of the "Christian Right".  I don't know who coined that phrase, nor do I care. But that is how I would've described myself.  I listened to Rush Limbaugh, as a child.  I even wanted to run for President of the United States (those dreams were dashed when my dad told me he would vote against me). Haha!  But I digress...I dreamt of being Ann Coulter when I grew up - a strong woman, who knows what she believes and doesn't back down. I ran the local Tea Party in my town, attending commissioner meetings and marching on Washington with hundreds of thousands of "patriotic Americans" just like me. But somewhere along the way, I got lost.... I started believing that the Conservative Movement was "Christian" first and "Right Leaning" second. I would've never admitted it, because that would be awful (and honestly I don't think I even realized that's what I believed), but for the most part, I saw Heaven separated into nations, with America having the biggest and best piece of land. I didn't have a problem with different colors of skin, a fact I was quite proud of. But I did see a definite separation between peoples of different countries. 

But then God.

Then God dug me up by my very shallow roots and planted me on the other side of the world, in an Eastern European country, with a culture I don't understand, that is in the middle of a refugee crisis. And then Paris. And Mali. And Nigeria. And Beirut.  And I find myself with the opposite viewpoint of my friends on the "Christian Right." My foundation has been shaken. And I thank God for that. Because my roots were shallow. I placed being American on the same level as being Christian. I hate typing that. But it's true. 

But then God. 

I have read Scripture that I have heard over and over again, with a new set of eyes, trying desperately to see people from other countries through God's eyes, and with God's heart for the nations. 

I'm scared.  Standing at the refugee camp yesterday, in "no man's land" between the two borders, with the people who are stuck between countries, was scary. Zo and I were encircled by 7-10 Middle Eastern men, asking us questions about what is happening to them, and my stomach was in a knot. But, slowly, slowly, I started seeing past their clothing, and age, and accents, and saw something different. Were they telling us the truth about their intentions? I have no idea. Were we in danger? I don't know that either.  Was I afraid? Absolutely. 

When a woman inside the camp, who I was giving diapers to, said, "Akbar" to me, my stomach flipped.  And then I realized she was just saying the diaper size was "great".  Wow.  The momentary fear from hearing that word.  From knowing she was either from Afghanistan, Iraq, or Syria. From knowing that I could be talking to someone who wanted me dead because I am a Christian.  

But then God.

So, yesterday, I took pictures. A lot of pictures. Pictures of people. Made in the image of God.  People that God loves.  And not a single person there was an American. Or part of the Christian Right. 

I don't presume to recommend what governments should do.  I am not implying that we should not vet people or be cautious, as a nation.  This post is more for me than it is for anyone else.  Because I'm still trying to work this all out in my heart and in my mind. But I want, more than anything, to love the people that God loves. And plant my roots deep, on the foundation that God designed. And to bring Him honor in the middle of this mess. So, I will share with you the pictures of the people that I saw at the camp yesterday. And I ask that you will join me in praying for them. And for us.  

Because He promised, in the second part of that verse (above) that He will be with us always, until the end of the age.  And I'm banking on that promise because He is faithful.

These two little punkins were so engrossed in shoveling noodles into their mouths, that they didn't even look up/notice when I handed them chocolate .  They were absolutely beautiful.

He actually asked me to take his picture.  He was sitting outside the children's tent, waiting on his mother to change his little brother's diaper.  His backpack was way too heavy for him, but he didn't say a word. An older brother, having to grow up faster than he should.  

He was so shy. That is, until he saw the chocolate.  Then he was all smiles!

When I took his picture, he giggled. And then I showed him what he looked like on my camera screen, and he threw his head back and belly laughed.  Oh, my heart.

"The little apple boy" kept hiding from me, behind the tent flaps.  But I have found I can get really far with a smile and a chocolate.  Finally, after some coaxing, he came out, smiled, and gladly accepted the chocolate.  

I'm not sure he could find the missing puzzle piece, I was there for over two hours, and he had that around his neck for the entire time. Haha!

She was precious.  Very busy moving the rocks from the right side of the board, to the left side. One at a time. Over and over again. Squat, pick up rock, place it on the other side, stand up, and then squat again.  When I gave her the chocolate, she turned and took it to her mother. And then back to her work again.

My favorite. She was so dirty. Absolutely filthy. No smile. But every single time I would hand out chocolates, she would run from wherever she was, and stand silently in the line. One chocolate per child. Except for her. She got four or five. Always silently. Always running right back to the pile of bags. No family to be seen, until later, when she was leading her younger sibling around, like a little mother hen.  I wanted to hug her. But she was so reserved, and I didn't want to scare her.

Sitting on a cardboard box, in the middle of the refugee camp.  Her mother had no diapers.  The baby girl's diaper was obviously days old and her rash was so bad.  I found fresh diapers, some diaper rash cream, and wet wipes for sensitive skin.  The pain was great and she sobbed. But with a fresh diaper and some medicine, she will be better soon.  I gave her mom 4 more diapers, for the journey.

There are real people behind the headlines.  Real people that have brothers and sisters and sons and daughters. People who are scared, too.  Many of them didn't realize how difficult the journey would be.  They, too have heard the stories of boats sinking in the sea. Of borders closing. Of terrorist attacks.  People made in the image of God. Who need to be prayed for. And helped.

People who need to be loved.

Zivotot e Ubav (Life is Beautiful, in Macedonian)

"This is a simple story....but not an easy one to tell."

Giosue Orefice 

Life is Beautiful (1997)

There are some stories that need to be told.  

Stories of hope in the midst of tragedy. Stories of joy when the sadness is almost suffocating. 

This is one such story. I don't know why God saw fit for me to be the one to share it; however, the privilege is not one I carry lightly. I pray I share it well.

Life is Beautiful (1997)

Years ago, as a young mother, I watched an Italian movie called, "Life is Beautiful".  I shouldn't say I "watched it." Because that isn't entirely true.  Through much of the movie, I couldn't actually see anything, because I was sobbing hysterically.  (If you haven't seen it, this post will contain spoilers.)  The movie is the story of a Jewish man and his son, who are faced with the horrors of being taken captive and placed in a concentration camp during Nazi Germany.  In order to shield his young son from the trauma, the loving father convinces his son, Giosue, that their time in the camp is merely a game. The climactic moment is when, while being marched to his death, the father realizes the son is watching, and begins walking in a silly way, while leaving his son with one last wink.  It is a beautiful story.  And very difficult to watch.

Yesterday, while at the refugee camp, in Gevgelija, I witnessed another father, making his young daughter laugh, in order to help shield her from what had happened to them and the pain the small family was experiencing. 

I had seen the family earlier in the afternoon. A man, his wife, a daughter (6 years old), and another child that I couldn't see well, because he was bundled up and his father was carrying him. I commented to Zo, as I was handing out chocolates to children waiting in the lines, that the child was very big to be carried, and that something must be wrong with him. But they were one family, in a line, of hundreds, and we kept walking - there were so many children in the line...

When we saw them again, they were sitting on the ground, outside the Children's Tent.  The mother was now holding the bundled child, while the little girl skipped around, smiling and humming.  Zo asked them where they were from.  This is their story, as told to us by the father...it's not a direct quote, but I will write from his perspective, for flow and to make it easier to read.

Yes, there are so many people coming.  We are from Syria. It is very bad there, in Syria. It's not good. We left.  We went to Turkey and then got to the boats.  

The boats are made for 40-50 people. But we were 267 people, and they put us on the boats.  My family had no life jackets. None. 

And then the boat went down. We were all in the water.  All of us. 267 people.  There were people who didn't make it. 26 people died. Some of them were children. They were floating all around us. Fathers. Brothers. Children. 

We were in the water for one hour and ten minutes.  No life jackets. And then two Turkish boats came and took us out of the water. After one hour and ten minutes. It was too long for my son. He is four years old. In 6 months, he will be five.  It was too much water for him. It was too long. 

We saw a doctor in Greece. He said he will be good in a few days, probably.  But, for now, he cannot walk because his legs are bad.  They are swollen very big and they hurt him so much to touch them.  And his eye (showing us his eye - where all the blood vessels were burst). It was too much water. He was too little. One hour and ten minutes in the water was too long. We must carry him until he is better. 

We must make it to Serbia and then to Germany. 

We took them inside the tent, and found a baby wrap that someone had donated. I had no idea how to use 3 yards of fabric to attach a child to his father.  But I knew someone who does! So, I sent a text to my friend, Angie (in America), who quickly responded with the link to a website with pictures to follow.  (Isn't technology amazing?!? Standing in a refugee camp in Macedonia, having a friend in America help a Syrian family). We tried every possible way the website showed, to wrap the father/son. We weren't sure if it would work.  But we couldn't practice with the son, because of his pain. So, the father asked his daughter to try it out. She was very nervous.  And then, in a moment that mirrored the father in Life is Beautiful, that loving father began made a game out of putting her in the wrap.  By the time we were done, she was giggling, and all fear was gone from her face.

The wrap wouldn't work. Any way we tried it, it would put pressure on his legs. I was desperate to figure out a way to make something work. And the father kept telling me, "It's ok. Don't worry. It's ok." Can you imagine? This man, who had been through so much, was focused on helping me not to worry. He was all smiles. And I fought back tears.

I asked him what else they needed. He asked, if possible, for some shoes for his son.  Because of the swelling, he was unable to wear his tennis shoes. I was so happy that we had brought a pile of soft, winter shoes.  I found a size that I thought would work.  The mother was so happy because they were soft. I gently held up his leg, while he laid on the wooden pallet, tears silently streaming from his eyes. His mother tried her best to put the shoes on his feet, as carefully as possible. I could feel the tension of his skin, which was stretched tight from the swelling, through his sweat pants.  He smiled, as the tears fell.  One shoe on.  Attempting the next foot brought cries and begging for us to stop.  The mother was so upset. She looked up at her husband, unsure what to do.  He smiled at her, with so much kindness, and told her not to worry.  "Tomorrow he will be better."  He told her to leave one shoe on, put the other in their backpack, and they would try again, "tomorrow."

One of the volunteers came in, at that moment, with a stroller. I have no idea where she was able to find one, but honestly, I don't care.  It was a miracle.  The relief on the parents' faces when they saw it is indescribable.  We carefully placed the little boy in the stroller.  His sister buckled him in.  He was all smiles.

I stuffed two more chocolates in their pockets.We wished them a safe journey. The father placed his hand on his heart and wished us farewell.

Zo and I walked out of the tent, toward our van.  But we aren't the same people that walked in.

This Post is Brought to You by the Letter F

Unless someone like you cares a whole awful lot, nothing is going to get better. It's not.

Dr. Seuss

the FLU

It's been a busy week, over here at the Naskov house.  We've been fighting the stomach flu!  No fun! I'll spare you the gory details, because I consider you friends.  And that is all I will say about that!

FAMILY

Saturday we visited family in Skopje.  (Nothing like spreading the stomach flu "love" around)  It was a great visit, complete with fabulous food, conversations about faith, a fun game of Farkle, and enjoying family time.  The kids (and us big kids, too) are really soaking in all the missed time with Baba, Dedo, and Aunt Julie.  It's been so many years since we have all been together - actually, for the youngest boys, moving here was the first time they'd met their grandparents on Zo's side.  The Saturdays that we visit seem to go by very quickly!  But we are so excited to have them together.

FIGHTS, FEET, FEAR, and FRIENDSHIPS

Sunday, since we were clear of the "bug", Zo and I took our weekly trip to Gevgelija.  It was the busiest I have ever seen.  Pictures can't describe the crowds.  10,000 people passed through the camp on Sunday alone.  (This picture is part of the line, waiting to get inside the camp, from Greece) The military & police presence was more pronounced than usual. We found out that was because there had been a fight break out between the refugees outside the fence, in the morning, and the situation had gotten pretty tense. We spent about an hour and a half at the camp.  It was amazing what happened, just during that time.

I met a precious Syrian woman, with her seven month old daughter. The mother was so distraught.  The volunteers go outside the camp, and bring women and children into the camp while the men wait in the line. That way, they can help the women with their children - changing soaked and soiled diapers, giving food and water, and a place to sit down because most of them are completely exhausted.  It is also a time to assess any needs they might have - medical, clothing, etc.  Almost every child that comes in needs a new pair of shoes.  I am not exaggerating at all when I say that the tennis shoes they are wearing when they arrive are pretty pointless.  They are held together by strings.  (Remember, they have been across the sea and walked for very long distances in those shoes.)  In the first hour, over half of the 30 pairs of shoes we brought were being worn by grateful refugee children. (Picture is a boy wearing his new shoes) Unfortunately, others went without because we didn't have their sizes. 

Back to the Syrian mother.  She was sitting in the tent, holding her daughter, waiting for her husband to go through the line.  And she continued to wait. And wait.  I spoke to her, trying to get her mind off of her fear for a few moments. She spoke some English.  While I talked, a single tear rolled down her face. She wiped it away quickly, obviously embarrassed. I told her about my children. She told me that her daughter was her first child. I told her that I could see the love she had for her daughter.  The tears began to fall on their own.  She looked at me with so much pain and said, "I am not a good mother. I brought my baby here. I am bad."  She couldn't speak and turned away.  I touched her shoulder, and reassured her, as best that I could, that she was good. That she was doing her best for her baby. I'm not a cry-er by nature, but there are some things that make me an absolute mess. Watching that mother, brokenhearted and feeling so much shame, was more than I could handle. So I cried with her. 

An hour later, she was still looking out the window, desperately seeking a glimpse of her husband, while her baby played next to her, oblivious of the pain and mess around her.  Police officers were making people go straight from the entry gate to the exit gate, so they could board buses. She was getting more anxious, so the volunteers offered to help her find her husband.  I told her I would keep her baby safe. And there was a moment there, where she was so scared, and so torn....I assured her I would not move and her baby would be safe.  Oh my goodness, the fear on that mother's face. She kept looking back as the volunteers escorted her toward the crowd.

Sweet baby girl spent the time sitting on my lap, eating my sunglasses.  After only 5 or 6 minutes, I saw the mother, rushing from the crowd toward the tent.  I smiled and waved.  The anxiety on her face was gut wrenching.  She thanked me, put her baby back in her front carrier, and rushed out to the gate where her husband was waiting.  It wasn't the last time I saw her.  Ten minutes before we left, I was helping Zo and a soldier with a little boy who had lost his family and I heard a woman calling through the fence, "Madame. Madame."  I looked toward the sound, and there was the Syrian mother, asking me for water for her baby's bottle.  I found a bottle, handed it through the fence, and was able to lock eyes with her long enough to say, "God be with you. And may your journey be safe."  She smiled, brushed a tear away. And then she was gone, into the crowd.

The rest of the time we spent at the camp, I organized the donations we brought, while Zo attempted to get arrested by one of the people in uniform. (not cool, Zo)  That's not a story for a public forum.  Just know that Zo spent a lot of years in America, and has a strong sense of justice and has forgotten the cautiousness (rightly, so) that people in Eastern Europe have toward those in authority. Alas, he came home with me and we have interesting stories to tell our children.

Moments before we left, and because he obviously hadn't gotten a clue from his first encounter, Zo stepped in between an irate police officer and a refugee who was refusing to leave the camp, saying he needed medical help. To be fair, much of the struggle between the officer and the refugee was because of language barriers. Because the man spoke English, Zo was able to convince him to sit on the outside of the gate, while I ran for a doctor at the Red Cross tent.  He said he was seeing black. When the medic arrived, she recognized the man because he had been in the medical tent a few hours before. She immediately realized that he had taken a turn for the worse, and called for an ambulance.  While we watched, they loaded him onto a stretcher and took him away.  He was going into diabetic shock and having heart problems.  We didn't have enough time to get his name. But God knows who he is.

One good event from this trip was that Zo made contact with a very kind police office who is from Skopje, and invited us to dinner.  I am sure that will be a call we make, in the not too distant future. It seems, by what he says that his heart is for the elderly in Macedonia, and he has a dream of opening a private retirement home.  Definitely someone we want to keep in contact with!

Also, when standing in the children's tent, one of the volunteers came up and  recognized Zo from childhood!  Wow!  They were friends as children.  Pretty crazy, eh?  Especially since we were two hours away from his hometown, and it's been 25-30 years since he's seen her.  She said he hasn't changed at all.  (I can't imagine a 300 lb, 6 foot 3 inch ten year old boy!  No wonder he stood out!)

FLIGHT
Because this is becoming more of a book than a blog, I'll try to keep this section short.  Tonight, Zo left for a 10-day business trip to the USA and Mexico.  YIKES!  Keep us in your prayers over the next few days. It is going to be really fun!  If nothing else, it will make for interesting conversation between the waiters after we leave restaurants.

We went to a restaurant tonight, and after I struggled through the whole meal with my Macedonian language skills, the waiter told me at the END OF THE MEAL that he speaks English. Thanks, dude!!!  No wonder he was smirking the entire time!

FUTURE
Before we left the camp yesterday, we asked for specific supplies that they need.  Here is what they said:

• shoes (definitely)
• socks (no one seems to donate those)
• diaper rash cream (the babies wear the diapers for a really long time, out of necessity, so rashes are common)
• warm pants (they are heading North, and the temp is dropping this week)
• 2 plug-in water pitchers (to warm water and milk for bottles)

Large organizations, like the Red Cross, are keeping them stocked with diapers, wipes, and feminine hygiene items, which is why we have stopped providing those items.  Instead, we try to fill in the gap with items that they don't receive normally, but desperately need.

I will not be going to the camp while Zo is out of the country. We decided that it was too far away for me to go alone, while the kids were 2 hours away.

Will post again soon.  Thanks for being a part of this journey!  We would love to read your comments and thoughts.

A difficult week...

"I will lift my eyes to the mountains. From where shall my help come?"  

Psalm 121:1

This has been a difficult weekend, on many fronts.

First, we got a call Saturday morning that a young man we knew (and who our daughter, Nattie, was friends with) had passed away, unexpectedly Friday night. Though they hadn't seen each other in 6 months or so, Nattie still felt very fondly of him, and it was hard, as a momma, to break that news. It was the first time that she has been through this type of tragedy.  I have been told by other people living abroad, that deaths are very hard to comprehend from the other side of the world.  They were right. So much of it doesn't feel real. I don't know that it will, while we are so far away. And with that, comes the guilt of "not having strong enough feelings" (if that even makes sense).  It's definitely something that we are processing differently than we would've had we been "back home."

Saturday, we decided to take Nattie with us to Greece and leave the boys at home, so that we could spend some time with her and break the news about Stephen.  It was a good trip, and I'm thankful for an easy first time through border control and no issues that would cause any more pressure on an already heavy conversation.

Zo and I went, alone, on Sunday, to the refugee camp. I noticed, as soon as we drove up that something was different.  Without trying to sound overly poetic or dramatic, it was strange how the clouds overhead seem to cast a shadow on the mood of the camp, as we pulled in the gate.

The volunteers were struggling. They told us that Saturday was "the worst day so far" at the camp. With three straight days of rain, and a downpour Friday night and all of Saturday, the camp flooded. We were told that there were parts of the camp where the water was up past the knee.  One of the children's tents was completely flooded.  There were 150+ children in the other tent, trying to stay dry.  It was mass chaos.  We asked the volunteers what they did. They said, "we did nothing. What could we do?"  They had zero drinking water all day Saturday and until noon on Sunday. When we got to the camp on Sunday, they were still trying to assess the damage and pick up the pieces.  This job would be difficult enough if the camp was empty, and clean up began. Unfortunately, all of the clean up, assessment, organization, supply runs, etc have to be done while there are still refugees pouring through the gates.

One positive note.  When the volunteers were telling us what they had run out of, the first three things they listed: baby rash cream, pants for children, and shoes for children were what we had in the van! Praise God!  We filled up the shelves with the donations (knowing they would run out again within a day or so).  But 64 children will have warm pants.  That is a step.

We went into the working children's tent, where I handed out candies to the 10-12 children inside.  As I was walking back out, I noticed a family sitting off to the side, with a stroller.  Assuming they had a baby, I walked over to say "hello."  When I got to the stroller, a tiny little hand reached out and grabbed my hand.  His wrist was 1/2 the size of Malachi's (my 6 year old who wears a 4T).  There was no meat on his hands, just bone and flesh.  He smiled up at me.  He was beautiful.  Rotten teeth, food tube into his nose, big dark eyes, misshapen head. But absolutely beautiful.

He immediately started talking to me in Arabic. His mama told him that I was an American, so he started counting to 10 in English. After he was done with that, he said, "I love you." and any other phrase he knew.  I asked him how old he was.  Nine. Just like my Josif. A nine year old, with a winning smile, in the broken body the size of an average 3 year old.  Fleeing from Syria. Hoping to make it to Germany. With his mother, father, seven year old brother, and four year old sister.

I talked to them for a few more minutes.  I told them I have four children. They asked to see a picture. So, I took out my phone and told them the names and ages of Nattie, Aleks, Josif, and Malachi.  My little friend, who wouldn't let go of my hand, smiled even bigger when I showed him my Joe and said, "He's nine. Just like you!"

I couldn't bear to ask to take their picture. But I do ask you to pray for them. God knows their names. I realized, when I got home, that one of the pictures I took of the tent, as a whole, shows a little snippet of my little friend, in his stroller, sitting off to the side. I'm grateful for that. I want to remember them. I don't know how I could ever forget.






One unusual sight at the refugee camp this time, was a clown group from Spain.  In the midst of heartache and loss, and with the language barrier,
still these three clowns were making people laugh. It was so beautiful to witness. Grown men were belly laughing. Children were clapping. It was awesome. I wish I had the opportunity to say thank you, but I didn't dare interrupt the magical moment that was happening in the middle of the dirty, rocky camp.



Monday, we decided to take a family trip to Thessaloniki, Greece. It's a three hour drive, but we heard they have a Cinnabon and a KFC, so we decided it would be well worth the trip.  Zo was not feeling well, but we decided that if we didn't go on Monday, we wouldn't be able to go for quite a while (long story - visa related). We piled in Ethelina, excited for the adventure, after several difficult days.


Because Zo was ill, I volunteered to get out at the Greek border. No problem, right? Well. Between the emotions of the past weekend, illness, and being over tired, I wasn't prepared for the added "fun" of the cultural differences between me (I realize now that I might have a tinge of Southern Belle in me) and the Greek border guard. I was trying really hard to answer any questions he might have and "do a good job" at whatever I was supposed to be doing at his window.  There was only enough space between his window and the edge of the sidewalk for the length of my feet. One step backwards put me in the lane of EU card holders, driving through, waving their passes. Of course, I didn't know this, because I can't read the signs, in Greek, or understand the border agent who was speaking to me, in Greek.  <insert "it's all Greek to me" joke>

So, I was leaning toward his window, when a car pulled up behind me to show their EU cards.  He couldn't see them because yours truly was blocking his view. Apparently this upset him, quite a bit, because he stood up and started waving his hands and yelling at me. (Remember, I have no clue what he is saying) When I asked him what was wrong, he proceeded to mimic me, by crossing his arms and leaning out of his window saying, "oh, sorry. oh, sorry." Silly me, I realized what he was saying and what was my insanely intelligent reply?  "Oh, sorry." To which he rolled his eyes, threw his hands up in the air, and said something (that I'm glad I didn't understand) to the guard next to him.

He finished my paperwork (6 passports and 1 car "green card") and handed it all back to me, while waving me away, quite dismissively, I might add.  I walked back to the van, got in, gave Zo a very abbreviated version of what had just happened (he saw most of it from the driver's seat).  And then I did what every strong, intelligent, confident, red-blooded American woman would do. I cried. Like a girl.

Great start to our adventure!  While I pulled myself together (in my defense, it only took 4-5 min), we continued on our journey.

The drive to Thessaloniki was uneventful (thankfully).  Zo didn't say three words the entire time. I realized, as we were driving, that he was really not doing well. The fact that he asked for medicine was a clear indication.  But, he's a trooper, and we continued. Maybe it was because he wasn't ready to attempt me seeing the border agent again! haha!

We found Cosmos mall, which is a HUGE mall in Thessaloniki. When we pulled into the parking lot, something made a loud noise under the back of our van. Sounded like we dropped something, and it was dragging.  We got out, nothing to be seen. But driving, wow! It was special. Zo was in no shape to crawl under the van, so we decided to go inside the mall and in the words of the great Scarlett O'hara, "Think about it tomorrow."

We got to the food court and the kids were wound up.  Really. Wound. Up.  But I was proud of them. They were very well behaved.  Zo left us for a while, to take care of some business. Ahem.  So, I sat them all at a table and took them one-at-a-time to whatever restaurant they chose in the food court.  It was fun to watch them make their decision.  Nattie - Greek food.  Aleks - Cheeseburger and onion rings. Josif - Asian food. Malachi - Dominos pizza.

We ate. Zo watched us. Then we went for a walk around the mall while he took care of some more business. We took one lap. I found a pharmacy and bought Zo some meds. He found us. Took the meds and decided it was time to go home. Kids were bummed, but they could tell their Tato was not doing well and we all knew we had a broken van and a 3 hour ride to get home.

We left the mall. I was starting to feel yucky. Zo drove cautiously (ie - 70 kph in a 120 kph zone) the entire way home, because the noise was persistent.  For what it's worth, we think it is the brakes. We have the van at the shop right now, and are awaiting the "verdict".

All in all, it was not the amazing adventure we planned it to be. We barely made it home, before Zo was sick again. I woke up Tuesday morning, joining him in his misery.

Today seems a bit better.  I decided to give up my perfectionism and guilt and cancel school for the rest of the week.

Zo leaves on Monday for a 10-day business trip to the States.  That should be interesting for us! I'm actually looking forward to it. It should be fodder for a lot of laughter, as I attempt to shop, eat out, and handle life in Macedonia without him.  At least the waiters will laugh a lot.

I started this blog with a question from the Psalms, "Where does my help come from?" The next verse answers it perfectly.  "My help comes from the Lord, the maker of heaven and earth."

We are grateful for the "help" we see all around us during this international transition. He has given us new Macedonian friends (who speak English, yay!),  text messages from friends back home (that always come at just the right moment), a strong family connection, and a roof over our heads. Most importantly, we have a purpose and a hope.  What more do we need?

UPDATE: Right before I posted this blog, Zo came in to tell me that the mechanic said nothing is wrong with the van's brakes. There was a metal plate that had bent and was rubbing. No big deal.  Thank goodness!!! Another provision He gave.

One Refugee Camp....Three Perspectives

“We can complain because rose bushes have thorns, or rejoice because thorn bushes have roses.”  Abraham Lincoln

Yesterday, Zo and I took our weekly road trip to Gevgelija. We had spent Saturday in Skopje, which is a 4 hour drive, round trip.  So Nattie graciously agreed to stay home with the boys (outside children aren't allowed in the refugee camp, so when they go with us, they ride for 2 hours, sit for 15 minutes, and then ride for 2 more hours!  Bless them! No complaining, at all).  This made it so that Zo and I had more time inside the camp than we have had in previous visits.

We were able to talk to several people, specifically:  a NGO employee who has worked at several different refugee camps, a young Syrian mother with a sick baby, and an older man, whose property backs up to the camp.  This post, for the most part, will be my take on their varying perspectives.


The NGO employee (sorry, the picture didn't turn out)
We have gotten to know "V" during our trips to the refugee camps.  He is a great help to us and has the added benefit (for me) that he speaks English very well.  He told us he has worked in Germany, Bosnia, Kosovo, and other places during past refugee crises.  "V" is a fountain of information and very pleasant to talk to. He works 3 days at the camp, and then is home 3 days with his wife and toddler.  He said they have asked him to spend more days at the camp, but laughed and said his wife would probably divorce him if he stayed there any longer. Yesterday, he told us that in his approximation, currently, only 1/3 of the people in the camp are Syrian refugees. He has ideas of things that need to be done - many of them quite good - and ways that "Americans" can help.  He said, if the Americans don't help, he guesses the next best thing would be the Chinese. He is worn out, but not giving up. His heart is for the refugees and making sure they are treated with respect.  Each week, when we leave, we ask him, "What do you need us to get this week?" And he gives us a list.  Life would be easier if it would stay hot or stay cold.  The "on" and "off" of the weather is making deciding on the most necessary donations a difficult task.  Yesterday, they needed short sleeved shirts.  We had all long-sleeved. Last week, they were overflowing with diaper rash cream.  This week, they were completely out.  It's difficult to plan.  But he keeps plugging along.  He's a good guy.  But he looks so tired.

The Syrian mother and her son

While we were there, one of the volunteers asked for someone who spoke English, because there was a Syrian mother, whose son was throwing up, and she wasn't following their directions for medicating him.  Zoran, "V", and I went into the tent.  Her sweet baby boy (11 mos old) was bright red, and obviously struggling. The mom looked tired, and concerned.  She showed us the water bottle that she was given at the Red Cross, which contained "medicine" inside, for her baby to drink.  (It appeared to be electrolytes, to keep him from dehydrating)  She was frustrated because she said the medicine wasn't working.  Zo asked her how long he had been throwing up. She said it had started that morning, in Greece, and that someone had given her medicine for him and it didn't help. She kept showing us that she wanted to give him a shot.  "V" told her that they could take her, and her son, to the hospital in Gevgelija, for him to get better medicine.  That really upset her.  She kept saying, "No, no. I know my baby. He will be fine. No hospital."  Poor woman.  I spoke up. I told her how beautiful he was and that I have 4 children. Anything to try and give her comfort.  "How do you do that?" she asked me.  Gosh, lady.  I smiled, but all I could think is that my life is pretty simple.  I didn't have to flee my country because it's not safe, carrying my 11 month old with me.  My life is very, very cushioned.  Still, she asked me how I do it. Pfft. I offered to look for a short-sleeved shirt for him, to help him cool off.  When I was walking off, she called behind me, "Can you please look for shoes for him? We lost his in the sea."  I found a t-shirt, but no shoes. I also found a batman tshirt for her, so that she wouldn't be covered in vomit.  She was very grateful, and kept thanking us.  By the time we left, her son was playing with the jars of baby food the Red Cross had given her.  Please pray for her and her son.  They have many miles to travel before they are done.  God knows her name.

The Macedonian man and his grapes
We found this gentleman, walking up and down the railroad tracks, shaking his head and shrugging his shoulders. I must relate his story, third-hand, because Zo spoke with him entirely in Macedonian, and I only understood half.  The rest, Zo told me on our drive back home.  I'll call him Dedo, just for simplicity sake (Dedo means grandpa in Macedonian).  Dedo owns approximately 20 acres of grapes.  His property backs up to the camp. Let me rephrase that.  Dedo owns approximately 20 acres of grape vines.  All of his grapes are gone.  3 tons. Gone. His entire year's crop.  When the refugees walk through his fields, they eat his grapes.  Imagine, between 3,000 and 10,000 people, per day, walking through, grabbing a couple grapes a piece.  It didn't take long for his vines to be empty, and his crop to be gone.  He told us he tried, at first, to put the grapes in baskets and sell them at market price to the people walking by, but he was told he was not permitted to sell food to the refugees. So, he watched, as his income (of grapes), disappeared. His property line is trashed. He stands, looking at what once was, and he is discouraged. He plead his case to the people in city government. They told him that "God will repay him."  He talked to the officials in the camp about the garbage. They told him that they were only responsible for garbage inside the camp - not outside. What does one say to this man? Zo listened. He apologized, on behalf of those in leadership who wash their hands of this entire mess.  It's easy to feel pity and want to help the refugees.  But they are not the only ones who are being hurt by this "crisis."  The ripples, that turn into waves, that grow into tsunamis are reaching far and wide.  Unfortunately, the end is not yet in sight.

There are so many more stories I can tell - stories of corruption, heartache, greed, and pain.  

But today, I will thank God for the sweet baby, who was playing happily when I left. 

And for the little boy, who posed for this picture (left), with a smile on his face and chocolate in his teeth (courtesy of yours truly). 

And a mother's love for her baby (right). 

And I will pray for peace, for healing, and for safety.  

And thank God for the thorn bushes that have roses.

A Mama's Perspective

"Being unwanted, unloved, uncared for, forgotten by everybody, I think that is a much greater hunger, a much greater poverty than the person who has nothing to eat." 

Mother Teresa

Today, I went to the Gevgelija Refugee Camp, with Zo.

It was a hot day - much hotter than it has been in the last couple of weeks. With temperatures passing 90 degrees, I felt a little silly lugging 10 blankets to the store house; however, everyone over here knows that winter is coming and the camp is not prepared.

By the time Zo and I unloaded all of the diapers, wipes, diaper rash cream, baby shampoo, and blankets from Ethelina (our van) and our friend's car, we were pouring sweat. We had to then wait in the storage house until the UNHCR planning meeting was finished, with the hopes that I would be able to get a pass to enter the camp.  We weren't sure when we drove the two hours to Gevgelija, this morning, if I would be approved so quickly.

After only about a 30 minutes, a man from the NGO (non governmental organization) we are working with, returned with good news!  He had a badge for me!  So, Zo and I piled into his car for the 1 1/2 mile ride to the refugee camp.

The first thing Zo noticed is that the bridge he was unable to cross last week, was now completely empty. No refugees anywhere to be seen as we drove the streets of Gevgelija.  The man told us that the camp would be "mostly empty" now, as a train had just departed, carrying 1,000 men, women, and children north, to Serbia.  He also said that now that Hungary was closing its borders, the refugee path had turned west in Serbia, and cut through Croatia and Slovenia, Austria, and into Germany.

I had my camera with me, and my cell phone, and a small bag of bite-sized Snickers I had brought from the States.  I really wanted to take pictures, so that I can show people back home the conditions of the camp and the faces of the real people who are making the trip from Syria, Afghanistan, Iran, etc in search of safety or a better life. But, honestly, when I walked up to the camp, I felt gross pulling my camera out of my purse. I didn't want to take pictures of people who are struggling so greatly...I didn't want them to feel like animals in a zoo....I was torn. Completely torn. So didn't take any pictures as we entered the camp.

The first tents we visited were the Family Rest Area tents.  They have been set up by the NGO we are working with, to give children a place to play and relax, give baths and fresh diapers to babies, and to give their mothers the ability to rest.  On the back walls of the tents, were pictures that the children have drawn, while they wait for trains or buses to take them to their next stop in their journey. I was so moved by the pictures of smiling children and families that the children had drawn. Smiling faces. Happy sunshine. Houses. Trees. Childhood. There, I could take my camera out and grab snapshots of the beauty and simplicity of childhood, even in the midst of an absolute mess.

Then, the volunteers showed me where they are bathing the babies. It's a great little system that is helping families. However, it will only be possible for the next 3 weeks or so. After that, the weather with change and the ability to bathe babies will be gone - unless we/they are able to come up with a way to warm up the water (they are currently using bottled drinking water) and keep the babies inside somewhere warm to change them.  It is a definite need.

A precious little girl was so afraid, and unhappy because the water was cold. The women volunteers were quick with a smile and let her pick out the dress she wanted from the pile of clothes.  Her tears dried quickly as the women dried her sweet little body. By the time they were done, she was smiling and chatting in her native language.



The only other pictures I felt comfortable enough to take were these:

A tent where refugees waited for the next train (they are running 4 trains a day, holding 1,000 people each). The situation is quite fluid, because of all of the countries that are involved.  The ever-changing open borders vs. closed borders, and the ebb and flow of refugees makes planning and organizing difficult, to say the least. One of the NGO volunteers, who has helped in refugee situations in other places said, "this one (situation) should be over relatively quickly - maybe one year or so." That didn't sound comforting, at all.


And an Afghan man and his son, who were travelling alone.  He was trying to wash his son at the hand washing station - which is not sanitary enough for little ones. He was very grateful when the volunteers took him and his son to the baby bathing/changing station.  When we left, his son was having his diaper changed (a much-needed task) and he was smiling.

A couple of things for you to consider, with us:

1) how to keep the babies warm while they are bathed.  They do have some electricity available, but I'm not sure to what extent. This sign was posted directly behind the tent.

2) there is a need for some type of playground equipment, if possible. Could also be indoor play equipment, for use when the weather changes.

3) other needs include:  kool-aid type powder that has vitamins in it, to add to the water bottles for the children, extension cords (the Macedonian kind - we can buy them here for $5-10), garbage bags, bottled water, and CHOCOLATE (that was a big hit with the kids!)

If you feel led to donate, please contact me!  We can also receive boxes of supplies, at a physical address in Skopje - though please understand that shipping is quite expensive.

In closing, I must share one of the things that hit me the hardest. The moment when, a man from an NGO said, "I've worked in crisis refugee situations in Bosnia in 1991, and in Kosovo in 1999, and others.  Do you know what's missing here?  Do you know what we need?  The Americans. They are not here.  We all know that if the Americans were helping, we wouldn't have all these problems."  I cried most of the way home.

This weekend, we will go to Skopje to get more supplies. And next week, we will return to Gevgelija.

Gevgelija Refugee Camp

“All human wisdom is summed up in two words – wait and hope.”

– Alexandre Dumas

Zo is home from Gevgelija, where he took diapers, wipes, and diaper rash cream to the UNHCR (United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees) Camp.  Here are his first thoughts, as he told them to me. Please understand that he hasn’t had time yet to process what he saw/experienced, so his thoughts are a bit raw and scattered. It was an emotionally taxing day, to say the least.

REFUGEES:  The camp was expecting an influx of 2,000 refugees today. Instead, they received over 12,000. By the time Zo arrived, at 11 am, they were completely out of food. 

It was a mixture of men, women, and children, from Syria, Afghanistan, Iraq, and Iran. Just today, the camp volunteers processed (a fancy term for writing peoples’ names on a sheet of paper) 50 infants.

VOLUNTEERS:  There are volunteers from several NGOs (non-governmental organizations), as well as the Red Cross, the UN, and police/military forces from Macedonia, and the UN. They were maintaining order as best they could, given the fact that there were, at any given time, 5,000 refugees and 25 officials patrolling the wire fencing.  When refugees (including entire families) would jump the fence and run, the military police, in full swat gear, would chase them down and return them to the camp so they could be processed according to UN requirements.

CAMP:  The camp is an open field, approximately 2-4 acres, that is surrounded by wire, with a large rolling gate at the front.  There is a second gate on one side, where the refugees enter, from Greece. Inside the camp, while Zo was there, were about 2,000 people, with another 2,000-3,000 on the Greek side, awaiting entry.  There were also 1,000-2,000 people standing in groups on a bridge in Gevgelija, awaiting transportation via bus to Serbia. Another large group of people were at the train station, on one side of the camp, awaiting trains that never came.  On the news, last night, it was reported that the Railroad Union had gone on strike today; however, there was no official word from them.  Whatever the reason, there were no trains.

TRENDS:  Zo asked one of the women, who has been volunteering at the camp for two months, if she is noticing any trends. She said, at the beginning, it was mostly men, but recently the number of women and children is increasing. She also said that the numbers are growing, not dwindling. He also asked her about their greatest needs and she said the following:

• Shoes
• Warm Clothes
• Women's Hygiene Items
• Blankets
• Stretchers
• Wheelchairs

WHAT NEXT:  We have no idea. Honestly. We talked tonight, and decided to sleep on it and talk again tomorrow.  Zo is definitely going back.  And we have more diapers and wipes to take, but it seems like such a small drop in the bucket, when the need is so great.

A couple of things that he said:

1. The secular groups are not providing what the refugees need most – hope. 
2. There needs to be more civilians there, because the refugees show a lot of fear and mistrust of the people in uniforms.
3. Many of them speak English.
4. It seems to be a safe place, other than the risk of stampede, which is quite high.

This is all, for now. We will continue to update as we learn more about the situation. Please continue to pray for the refugees and for the people who are trying to help them.