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.