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.