I'm Just One Person

When I think about the hundreds of stories of loss I've either heard, read, or watched during this last year, I feel small. I think about the young man whose whole family is now gone, and he's all alone in this world. Or the young woman who was raped and petrified to sleep at night for fear of another attack. Or the boats of countless people who've disappeared to the depths of the sea. Or of those who've lost loved ones in prisons or from being shot, bombed, or beaten. Or those who've died from a lack of water or food. Bombs, guns, fear, despair, pain, difficulty, hopelessness- these are the things that mark the stories and faces I hold dear in my heart now. I want to enter in, to share their pain and sorrow, to try and bear some of the burden, but the truth is that it's too much. When I stand at the entrance of just one of the thousands of refugee camps throughout this world, I feel so insufficient to even the needs there. The physical needs alone are staggering in these places of true squalor! But the spiritual and emotional needs far surpass what can be seen on the surface. One need only to look in the eyes of just one of the people trapped there to feel the staggering weight and gravity of the situation. When I think about myself, my abilities, and my weaknesses, only one word arises to my mind: helpless. I can do absolutely nothing that bears lasting impact here... I just want to sit down and weep.

But God... I praise His Name that there is a 'but God', because there most definitely didn't have to be! And truth be told, I'm surrounded by people who don't realize that there is a 'but God' to cling to. "But God, being rich in mercy, because of the great love with which He has loved us" entered into our pain, our suffering, our weaknesses, our failures and dwelt there! (Eh 2: 4-7) When I think about the various camps that we are visiting, and the various families we are seeking to help, I'm only able to walk forward because there is a 'but God' and He already resides in these places. He's there- I see Him everywhere. I know that sounds weird: how can God be in such a forsaken, horrific place? He's there because He's the essence of all that is good, all that is beautiful, all that is life, all that is love, and all that is hope! And though evil has triumphed over much, it hasn't destroyed those things completely. It never will, because He wins! And even though I'm small and powerless in and of myself, I am a mighty warrior on the side of the King who wins this whole blasted war with ugliness, pain, disease, sorrow, and death. 

You may look at the news as you sit on your couch each evening and feel the same way: helpless. What can you do? What lasting impact does saying a prayer really have? Or tossing some funds toward the massive black hole of need? Truth be told, there's a lot of hard things happening all around right now- there's not a continent untouched (not sure about Antartica!) by immense suffering! It challenges the core of what you truly believe, if you let it. I'd like to encourage you to go to that place. Examine these hard things, wrestle with them, ask the tough questions, and stop turning a blind eye because you simply don't know what to do. Jesus calls us to follow in His footsteps, so ask Him how He wants you to enter into the fray. It could be at home, it could be on your knees, it could be in a far away land, or it could be all those things. Whatever you do, please don't sit back and think that you're just one person and incapable of doing anything. God already did it, join forces with Him!

A Poem About Freedom

This past week I encountered a bit of my youth, as I ran across my only claim to fame: a poem included in my community college's yearly publication. I was 20 years old at the time I wrote it, and while I wish I could change some of the lines to not be so extreme and judgmental, there is still much truth found in pockets of it. I leave it untouched...

Your Unknown Possession

You, the American, the fortunate one

Wake each day to priceless opportunities

Gifts from some distant forefather

One who allegedly shed blood for you

You partake in these benefits daily

Without thought or even thanks

You attire yourself in hundred dollar skin

For which you will one day pay, but

Not now, thanks to Master Card

You transverse borders with no thought

Traveling from country to communism

To civil wars and back again

Simply relying on a blue, stamped book

You view fires, hurricanes, and starving children

From a Lazy Boy with beer in hand

Flipping screens if too boring or gory

Dismissing images with learned apathy

Christmas and Easter, ritualistic visits

To shell out dues to who knows what

God, merely a name seen when

Purchasing unneeded merchandise

Or maybe pondered on September 11

But only in fear or anger

You stroll from spouse to spouse

That is, if you decide to marry

Children and pets are good when lonely

But require no effort or instruction

Then you wonder about Columbine

You pour time, effort, and money

Into legalizing marijuana

And fail to connect overflowing jails

To the growing addictions

You idealize stick skinny supermodels

But send teenage girls into suicidal depression

Yes, you would be 100% American

Fortunate? Well, you should have been

But in your freedom you lost it

Enslaved to the incessant demands of self

Ask those living in oppression about it

They know the very essence of liberty

Buy you, you only know bondage

Slavery to the freedoms you think you so deserve

Modern Day Joseph

In a perfect world no boy in his early 20's should ever be looking me in the eye saying: "I have no hope anymore" and meaning it with all his heart. Though I meant my words: "No one is ever without hope!" with all my heart as well, they still feel petty in comparison with his story...

Growing up Kurdish is difficult in and of itself, in ways I can't even begin to grasp or detail out here (I'm not trying to be political, just seeking to understand my friend). Being part of a people group with no land of their own and finding yourself surrounded by warring nations provides a glimpse into his childhood. Moving from place to place when he was young, he finally settled in Iraq to begin to work when he should've been pursuing a university education. For three years he found himself bent over nearly double carrying massive stones on his back in the blazing hot sun for 12 hours a day. The pay was minimal, but after saving every penny, he was able to help his family move onward in their journey to what he hoped was a better life. His family set out through the mountains of Iran, seeking entrance into Turkey. It was here that the police took them captive, placing them in a prison for over 2 weeks with no food. His mother has diabetes (I can't imagine how she survived this!), but it was his father that had a heart attack, received no medical help, and died there. How horrific to be treated as so worthless that their lives mattered not! Upon release, they were hit with the cost of burying him in a foreign land: 2,000 Euros! Knowing they needed to keep moving forward, they sought out help to get to Europe. The corrupt man they encountered promised them a safe passage on a boat with 40 people, maximum. He charged them 4,000 Euros for this, and then used force to place them on the boat when there were 70 people climbing aboard instead. All their money was gone, and now their very life was in danger as they set out in the pitch black darkness across unknown waters. A miracle of God protected them as nearly collided head on with a black, almost invisible, ship- they were able to spin out of the way just in time and hang on as the wake nearly toppled them over. Once reaching Greece, they spent 3 months in Idomeni, the worst refugee camp at the time. But a few weeks ago the Greek government decided they were going to remove all the existing camps (able to be seen by tourists, which would affect their money intake during the summer months) and move all the people to military camps (concealed in far off abandoned warehouses). The camp his family was moved to isn't open to most organizations entering, likely because the conditions are so bad, so we sat outside the gate and talked. For 15 days no one emptied the trash bins at the camp! The amount of trash produced by 300 people is massive. There is a family there that they've heard has tuberculosis. The others have been told that there is nothing to worry about, but as they walk through the camp coughing, fact-based fear triumphs over the empty words of the guards. One look at anyone in this camp reveals one of the most horrific issues of all: mosquitos! Some people easily are covered in over 100 bites, as there is zero protection from the nightly onslaught of bloodsuckers from the nearby lake. His mother's health has nosedived as the health care provided is severely limited. There is given no information as to what the next steps will be. There is a Kurdish camp in Athens with people who've waited 10+ years for resettlement! Will this be their story? If they do get resettled in the next year, will they get to choose where they go or be sent to a far off land to live in another camp similar to this one? Will his mom be able to hold out for this seemingly never-ending resolution? Question after question plagues his thoughts. The future is unknown and seemingly bleak.

As I laid on my bed that night, pondering his story, I couldn't help but think about the life of Joseph in the Old Testament. Sold into slavery by his own brothers, falsely accused by his owner's wife, unjustly imprisoned, forgotten by the man he'd helped, etc... A true tale of woe! But through it all, God worked! It even mentions that God's steadfast love was with him when he was in prison. In my mind, steadfast love doesn't equal imprisonment, but in God's kingdom of redeeming evil to good and ugly to beautiful, it can mean this! Maybe steadfast love means injustice, refugee status, unknowns, heartache, and trials beyond compare. God alone knows what redemption of this all will be!

"As for you, you meant evil against me, but God meant it for good, to bring it about that many people should be kept alive, as they are today."

Sharing Their Tears

After a few months of being home, I am now back in Eastern Europe helping with the refugee situation again. The circumstances are vastly different than before. When I was in Serbia, I was at a transit camp of sorts. People came and went all day and night. There was not time to really get to know someone or build a deeper relationship. Today marked my first interaction with the horrors I've been reading of these past months. Thousands of refugees packed into makeshift camps, with no idea of what the future holds. I've seen and experienced first hand some really awful things during my times overseas, but I struggle to have categories for this. I played with a little boy who'd lived his entire life in various camps. I talked with a mom who'd been forced to deliver her baby a month early, because it was starving inside her due to a lack of proper nutrition- the baby is extremely small and is now many kilometers away in the hospital (2 hours walk) for the next few months. The children have been unable to attend school for years, so an entire generation is falling through the cracks- them being the hope of maybe rebuilding their country, should the war end anytime in the near future. The list could go on and on...

Today I met a man who is an incredible artist. He not only is gifted, but he is also able to vividly capture all the heart and emotion behind something. As we were all sitting and talking, his wife pulled out about ten sketches he'd made depicting their situation: the war, the EU decision, being stuck in Greece, religion, etc. I am a very strong person, and it often takes a lot to make me cry. However, by the third picture I couldn't hold back the tears. I could barely see the sketches anymore, but I was able to make out clearly one of the last ones. There was a tight rope stretched across a canyon. On the rope were all the refugees, struggling to hang on. Behind them were their own people yelling: "Unbelievers!" and wielding guns. In front of them, with a knife posed over rope, was the EU yelling: "Terrorists!" Where can they go, who will help them, and what hope of a future do they have? I can't imagine being in their situation, but after months of simply reading about it, it was good to share in their tears today. I know there will be many more in the coming months. Please keep praying for the war to end, for them to be able to return home, and for Shalom to come to their hearts fully!

When Pillars of Fire Become Mundane

As I am reading through Exodus again, there is a thought that continually arises: that of remembrance. Truth be told, the entire Bible is full of God commanding His children to remember what He's done, His love, and His promises. The Israelites seem to flunk out of this class repeatedly, even while they are in the midst of the love and provision transpiring.

I can't imagine being guided by a pillar of cloud by day or a pillar of fire by night! How crazy would it be, when you're starving, for there to all the sudden appear sweet wafers on the ground that taste like honey? Or what about flocks of quail surrounding us just as our tummies began to rumble? Whenever I'm thirsty, God brings forth a stream of water out of a rock! Or my clothes never wearing out for 40 years?! Looking back on these incredible and mighty supplies of God's grace, it seems so foolish and ridiculous for the people of Israel to not trust God, to spend their time grumbling, and to doubt His love. How could you see the waters of the Red Sea parted one day and then spend the next cowering in fear of the unknown? Logically it makes no sense!

But then I look at my own heart/life... I have fear (more than I wish to admit), I complain, I grumble, I doubt, I distrust God's love, I forget His provision- all on a daily basis! My heart wants to point out that: "Yeah, but I didn't have the waters parted or the manna fall from heaven into my lap!" But truly I have! It just doesn't look like a sweet wafer or a pair of clothes that never becomes threadbare. I know some of the most incredible people in all the world! God has brought about miracle after miracle to bring me to the place I am with Him. Jobs, financial provision, food, clothes, vehicles, houses, roommates, furniture... and I could go on and on! Countless things, big and small, that were provided when I was at the end of my rope or, even worse, when I thought I could do it on my own. He ALWAYS steps in with love, with grace, with mercy, with compassion, and gentleness. And yet, day after day, my own pillars of fire become less miraculous and less special and and even mundane. I forget, because I no longer see the beauty and power behind it.

There's a reason God requires His children to have certain celebrations throughout the year (passover, booths, etc). He knew they needed a reminder to remember! A chance to not lose sight of His beauty, love, and provision. And there's a reason He calls us to abide in Him daily. He's so good to us- are you able to see that (and Him) today?

Dependency & Relationships

In November of 2013 I wrote this blog,
but never finished it or posted it:

These past years have been rough in regards to relationships. People coming and going in my life. People being really far away. Some people I didn't want being very near. Investing heart and soul, only to have someone stripped away. Being unavailable in times of happiness or sorrow. And lots and lots of prayer.. After saying goodbye to family and friends in the Fall of 2008, I embarked on a sharp learning curve. Part of that process meant (this count was made in frustration at God one day) getting really close to and then saying goodbye (maybe to never see them again) to over 70 people. Other missionaries, short termers and long termers, people in my organization, folks in my church, and local friends. When I say close, I'm not sure the American mind really understands that, because we are part of a society that is independent, take care of myself, and need very little from others. The sort of relationships I shared with people were deep- 'I'm drowning here', 'I have no family or friends around, will you listen and let me cry', 'I don't see or understand God right now', 'My family says if I come to your meetings I'll be punished, so can we have coffee instead'.. A whole new picture of family for me. Some were in my life all 3 years, some only a matter of months. People I came to depend on.. at least initially, until so many moved home, moved cities, or shut down and shut people out. My already independent spirit became even more so. My already un-trusting heart began to let even fewer inside. And so was the state of my heart and life as I moved back to the US. Broken and feeling very alone!

I can't look and analyze these past years and place things in a box of 'right' or 'wrong'. 'Followed God here, but what in the world happened there!' There weren't times of blatant sin, where I walked away, stopped seeking Him, or rebelled. And that's what confused me so much through it all. 'God, I'm following You! Why is everything in my reach turning to shambles and failing?' But looking back (and even to the present), all the crises, all the pain, and the un-understandable moments have been drawing me to this one point: Jeremiah 17:5-6. Oh, I had verses 7-8 memorized! I'd quote them to myself often.. But verses 9-10 are the key to whether a man is trusting in himself and others or trusting in the Lord:

The heart is deceitful above all things and beyond cure. Who can understand it? “I the Lord search the heart and examine the mind, to reward each person according to their conduct, according to what their deeds deserve.”

Unknown to me, I had fully deceived myself. I was trusting in myself! I blogged here about strengths and weakness, having told myself and convinced others I was strong, fearless, and no mountain was unconquerable with God and I. But the reality of how that looked was more like this. I was (am) utterly weak. Maybe one of the most fearful people you know. And I was trusting in my own strength, and God was after His glory, which in my life meant breaking me to show me who I really was.

So, where does that leave me? Simply with an understanding and realization that I am a shrub in the desert. The only place trusting in myself will ever get me is to being a shrub. That tree spoken of later, next to the river with lush greenery, that's only found in trusting the Lord one hundred percent.

I Know Whom I Have Believed

It was Fall of 2008 when I found myself sitting in a very chilly room surrounded by people I'd only recently met. Looking around at the weathered faces, each one seemed to have an inspiring, yet difficult, story to be shared. Indeed, they were originating from all across the globe, and though English was spoken, each person had to adjust his own version of this language to communicate with one another. We were a rag-tag group of people that loved Jesus and wanted to see His name lifted high throughout the world. Currently we all found ourselves in Eastern Europe, though many had worked in numerous other locations prior to being there among us. We had congregated for an international church service on a Sunday evening. The speaker was from Northern Ireland, and I found myself enthralled with his accent and different way of interpreting the text he was preaching from. The 'romantic-ness' of being overseas had faded (or truthfully never really been there for me), but I think I'll always be a sucker for accents and learning new cultures! Though this evening was many years ago, I still remember in depth various points he made. God was moving in my heart!

He preached out of 2 Timothy 1, talking about suffering. And while I'd had a pretty rocky go at life since I was a kid, I found myself unable to relate. You see, the suffering I'd been through had been some hard knocks of life that are caused by living on a sinful, very broken planet. He spoke of suffering for the Gospel's sake. As I sat there, I began to dialogue with Jesus: "I don't feel I can relate to what he's speaking about. I mean, I love You with all my heart, but I can't say that I've ever really suffered, suffered for Your Name sake. Going without some of the conveniences of life that I'm used to isn't really classified as suffering..." I was 24 years old at the time, which makes me laugh that this was such a struggle then (looking back from my 30's now), but God gently spoke to my heart one word: "Singleness."

Later that night, alone in my bedroom, I thought on this passage with that word inserted in the meditation: "...for which I was appointed a preacher and apostle and teacher, which is why I suffer as I do. But I am not ashamed, for I know whom I have believed, and I am convinced that He is able to guard until that Day what has been entrusted to me." Little did I know how much, in the coming years, this passage would minister and sustain my heart through the ache of loneliness. There were instances I feel I could've been married had my passion not been so strong and my heart not so fully devoted to living missionally. Granted, I'm probably the most flawed, imperfect person to ever seek to live that calling out, but nonetheless, it has been my heart's desire since I was young to love the lost and minister to the broken. I'm sure those characteristics are at the top of some man's list for a wife somewhere in the world, but I've yet to meet him as a single man. So, I press on day after day, knowing that what has been entrusted to me by the Lord (my singleness) will be protected and guarded by Him until He deems it best to release me to something else.

It's not easy to rest in this, but I love thinking upon the part of the verse that makes it worthwhile: "for I know whom I have believed..." What a phrase! When we know God's beautiful, good, loving, generous, Abba/Daddy heart, we can find rest, even when things are ugly, hard, lonely, sad, pain-filled, seemingly never-ending, etc. His character is enough to convince me that He is able!

Fight vs. Rest

I've found that those who are engaged in matters involving injustice throughout the world (myself being lumped into that category) are often some of the most passionate fighters I've ever met. It's almost like God stamped 'right and wrong' upon our eyes and everything is viewed through these lenses. Having worked with children, I can often predict which of them have this gift/curse as well. They can sometimes be found on the sidelines because other children aren't playing fairly, in their perspective. Or they can be found advocating the  rights of their peers or a lost puppy. There can often times be a lot of arguing with them, because when the world is black and white, any grey areas can be hard to swallow.

I mention children, because they are typically the most unfiltered, extreme versions of passion. My poor family had a lot to put up with me: "I will NEVER listen to country music", "I will NEVER eat ice cream", "I will NEVER shop at _____", etc. (and just imagine that 'etc.' to be a VERY long list!) However, there are many adults that don't experience the humbling and mellowing out that the hard knocks of life bring. Obstinate, pushy, controlling, and opinionated are all words that could be used to describe adults who never grew out of their child-like passionate state.

But the reality is that being a fighter, or a passionate person, is a gift from God in many ways. When I look throughout history I see thousands of people that lined this path: Peter, Luther, Mother Teresa, David Livingstone, Amy Carmichael... to name a few known people. Reading these, and other, biographies can be an interesting undertaking. They accomplished massive amounts of good, things that the average person never would've been able to, but at the same time, many of them were very difficult, if not impossible, to work alongside. I'm finding that partly that might be due to them not knowing when to fight and when to rest. Or maybe what is the true fight and what is not.

Throughout my years of being an adult I've been aware of numerous (my pride wants that word instead of thousands) occasions where I've been so dull and blind that it wasn't until significantly later that I could even recognize that it was myself (or worse: God) that I was indeed fighting against. The fights with one's self are very brutal and bloody, not to mention costly! I'm quicker at recognizing them these days, but I can't yet go so far as saying they never occur. Letting things go is likely one of the hardest parts of being a fighter. Accompanying that would the topic of resting.

I would say the Scriptural version of rest (or Sabbath) could be equated to letting things go and simply be in God's hands. To take a day off of working or to not collect more manna for tomorrow requires deep trust in Jehovah Jireh! To know the line of when it is time to "love mercy", when it is time to "seek justice", and when it is time to simply "walk humbly with your God." (Micah 6:8) Trust is a hard thing for a fighter, because we are used to making things happen. To let something go feels impossible. But, as I learn more and more each year, to let things go is to actually accomplish much more!

"Unless the LORD builds the house, the laborers work in vain. Unless the LORD watches over the city, the guards stand watch in vain."

Psalm 127:1

Shutting Borders, Shutting Hearts

In the aftermath of the European Union deciding to close their borders, my heart is reeling. I assumed it was going to happen, but I am still in shock. The more I've thought about this choice on their part, the more I can see the idolatry and shallowness of the West.

I live in one of the richest countries in the world. In connection with that fact are glimpses of comfort/ease being the king ruler of all things in our desires. If something is in the least bit difficult or slightly hard, someone will invent something to remove the work and pain out of the task. Also, walking away from challenging things, like marriage, is very common. Nannies, daycares, and teachers are given the responsibility of raising our children in many places. We pump our meat and vegetables full of hormones (and then antibiotics) to make them more pleasing to our eyes and tongue. These products, along with millions of other things engineered simply for satisfaction, are acquired by aimlessly perusing grocery store aisles on our way between sitting at a desk and sitting in front of a TV. What do we know of hardship, of suffering, of deep pain, of hunger...? I've lived in the two poorest places in my city these past years, and what I've found is children who throw free food away at school and homeless people who want cash and reject food. The majority of our poorest people aren't really in dire need!

There's a passage I've been thinking upon these past days: "Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our affliction, so that we may be able to comfort those who are in any affliction, with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God..." (2 Corinthians 1:3-4) What happens when a people group has insulated themselves from needing comforting by padding their lives with ease and flees affliction at all costs? I just lost my mom a year ago and there were few people around me who knew how to provide comfort for my hurting heart. Why? Because we medicate our hardships- the addictions I see in the lives of those surrounding me are numerous (cell phones, TV shows, busyness, social media, etc). Suffering produces a depth to our lives that is needed to provide comforting to another. If we refuse to plummet the deep waters of pain ourselves, how can we go there with someone else?

When I think about the refugees I met last month, they are no different than my neighbors and friends here. Many were very educated, they loved their families deeply, they were in search of somewhere they could work hard, be safe, and even contribute to economically. A war interrupted their lives! These people aren't scum trying to mooch off of the wealth and prosperity of others who've worked harder and 'done life better' than themselves. They are some of the most afflicted people on this planet right now, in search of comforting and help. Sadly, the places with the most resources have been repulsed by their suffering and have shut their doors in fear. Fear that these people might rob them of their idols and some of the pain might seep into their bubble of safety and ease. If I am being honest, I am truly disgusted at this reaction! Especially in the Church... I can't understand how we can turn our heads away and do nothing. Where is Jesus?

"Then the righteous will answer Him, saying, 'Lord, when did we see You hungry and feed You, or thirsty and give You drink? And when did we see You a stranger and welcome You, or naked and clothe You? And when did we see You sick or in prison and visit You?' And the King will answer them, 'Truly, I say to you, as you did it to one of the least of these My brothers, you did it to Me.'"

Jesus is in their midst! Do you have eyes to see this? A heart that cares? Please let go of your idols and comforts to feed, welcome, clothe, heal, visit, and pray for those among you in dire need. He's watching and waiting, Church- ARISE!

The Dying Church

Even before I moved to Europe eight years ago, I had heard talk of how the Church there (and filtering into the US) was dying. Atheism and Islam were taking over, and the large cathedrals were now sitting empty. Once there, I witnessed this for myself. There's something haunting about walking into a massive sanctuary that you know was once filled with worship to the Creator, its dramatic stain glass masterpieces displaying this truth, only to now be a tourist attraction filled with cameras and art enthusiasts. 

But is the Church in fact dead in Europe? I know firsthand that the answer is no. Many of my friends and coworkers can boldly testify to movement of the Holy Spirit and churches growing. 

After living in Eastern Europe for three years and now having spent an additional month there helping with the refugee crisis, there is a strong passion and prayer filling my thoughts at present. If only God would be delighted in using this massive migration of hurting, needy, desperate, searching people to awaken His Bride to be and do what He's called Her to be and do! Life should drip from Her lips. Joy should be shouted from Her doors. Hope should be broadcast from Her all words. Peace should be exampled in the streets. Love should fill Her actions. What an opportunity to arise, to minister, to reach out, to care, to help, and to be Jesus! 

During my month of working in the refugee camp in Serbia, out of the hundreds of volunteers and workers surrounding me, only a handful of them were believers. People are being raised up to help. There is compassion and care being administered. But those things can only go so far when the real needs aren't being met. If the heart isn't ultimately being addressed, what good is a pair of new shoes, hot soup, or information given in the long run? As the chaos filling Europe depicts, there aren't many answers to be had as to what should be done moving forward. My prayer is that the Church would stand up and be the solution! The nations we've so long prayed for are at Their very doorstep, hurting, seeking, and needy... May We do something! Oh, Jesus, awaken Your Bride to take action! 

Windows into a Refugee Soul (pt 2)

To find more stories, click here.

He quietly interrupted my coworker and I while we were standing in the courtyard talking. "Excuse me, do you have information about where we are going and when?" I explained a few things and then ran off to get a pamphlet about their journey in his own language. We stood talking so long that we eventually moved into the warm tent to sit down. He was on his way to Germany from Afghanistan with his mother and sister. He sadly explained that his father was part of the Taliban, so that was why he wasn't with them. Things had become really difficult after America left. "There are no jobs or opportunities for even the people in the city now. There is no one in power that we can trust." And he went on to tell some stories that depicted these things. His eyes grew very sad as he explained that his father was now trying to marry his 27 year old sister to another man in the Taliban. He had taken his mother and sister and fled, not knowing what would happen or where they would go. The bus engines fired up, and I sadly watched him rush away, back to the two women he loved greatly and was trying to protect.

After meeting his request to help him find a doctor, we began to talk again when he found me outside cleaning. He'd spent three years translating for the US army when they were occupying Afghanistan. He'd become quite close to many soldiers and many of his fellow translator friends now lived in The States. We both got teary eyed as he explained how the Taliban had kidnapped his brother and held him, ultimately taking his life. On top of that, life was very hard in his country. There were no jobs, no opportunities, no one he could trust. His wife had remained behind in Afghanistan as he bravely sought to pave the way to a better life in Germany... maybe the US. In spite of years of hearing about my country, he eagerly, with eyes full of hope, asked me: "What is it like in America?" Taking a deep breath, trying earnestly to not crush the expectation that filled him, I simply said it would be different for him than for myself, but that he had a good chance finding work since he knew English. A few other men began to surround us, watching and listening, each with their own set of quiet hopes and dreams. My heart felt overwhelmed, and I uttered the only words that made any sense in that moment: "I will pray for you!"

I sat coloring with a noisy group of children when I heard her speak to me in English, it was flawless, and I was impressed. After a few minutes of conversing I asked where she'd learned English. She said she was only allowed to finish the 7th grade in school, but she so much wanted to learn English that she made her brother teach her everyday when he would come home from classes. She was traveling with her husband and three small children from Syria. She began to explain how some evil men had barged into their home, demanded they leave, and take nothing with them. They quickly fled to his brother's home, but that wasn't a permanent solution. Now they were on the road to Germany, traveling with a large group of women and children who'd been together with them on the raft from Turkey to Greece. She described how the one hour trip across Aegean Sea in the overcrowded boat had been terrifying, as none of them knew how to swim. Their trip had been without problems, but the following day a raft filled with 30 people went under and all drowned. Sadness filled her eyes as she described other aspects of their journey. I was able to spend two days together with this family, while they were stuck at my camp, and since the borders have been closing, chances are very high that they still have not able to make it to Germany. They, along with thousands of others, are likely stuck in limbo somewhere in a refugee camp, uncertain of what tomorrow will hold.

These stories I share because I want to give a face and a sense of connection with these people that are simply being categorized under the label of 'refugee'. Many things I heard prior to going to Serbia were not true! I want people to know and see what is true regarding this situation. I don't want people to just see the big picture, but rather enter into the ground level in an intimate and personal way. This isn't just a mass migration. These are lives, individual people with beautiful hearts, gut wrenching stories, and in need of help and hope. My wish and prayer is that maybe one somebody (or the Church as a whole) will be inspired to give, go, or pray as a result of reading through these!

The Color of My Passport

He found me in the hallway, eyes full of worry and eager searching: "I need the doctor," he said. We walked down the hall to the doctor's office, and he took his place in the long line. I went back outside to clean. A few minutes later I looked up to find him walking toward me, with his head down. "Did you see the doctor?" I asked him. His smile flashed with recognition of my face in a crowd of hundreds. "Yes, it's okay now." We started to talk, and I was quickly shocked by his impeccable English. He was from Afghanistan and had been a translator for American troops for three years. His story was a sad one, and I'll likely share it in another blog, but he said something that has plagued my heart. "All my friends are now in America through _____ program (one for translators), but I've submitted my paperwork and have heard nothing. I am going to Germany, but really I want to go to America! What is it like there?" Pictures of my city and others flashed through my mind as I considered what America was like and how I could describe it. But before I could open my mouth, thoughts of the refugee housing I'd lived in for a year came rushing forward. Curbs lined with men sitting around aimlessly, women saying even as bad as it was in Iraq it was better than being trapped in their house, children joining gangs because there were no other opportunities for them to participate in in this part of the city... "It's different for me than it would be for you there. You'd have a good chance finding a job, because you know English, but I don't know what it would be like for you!" I wanted to cry, as I have dozens of times these last weeks...

I'm surrounded by desperation, it is written on the faces of everyone around me. Their countries are at war. Their family members and friends have been murdered. They've sold all they own in this world and have spent it to come here, only pennies left. People have abused and exploited them along their journey. They are sick, tired, hungry, dirty, lonely, afraid, uncertain, worried.... all because of their passport.

Many times I have looked at my passport and wept: "Why, Jesus? I don't deserve the rights that come with being an American! I don't even understand what freedom is, because it has never been taken away from me. I don't know how to value what I have. I don't give a thought to traveling across borders, to being welcomed into homes, to doing whatever in the world I want to do when I want to do it! Why not them, Jesus? Why me, Oh Abba, why me...??"

This is probably another blogpost, but I am so embarrassed with how my country has responded to this crisis. Out of hundreds of workers here, I've met only two other Americans in my entire month here. One was living in Bosnia, working with my organization. The other stayed 2 days. Every time I'm asked where I'm from, I'm ashamed at how my government has responded to these people in dire need and pain. I look in their eyes, and I have no answers. "I don't know why you're likely going to spend the rest of your life in a refugee camp somewhere, and I'm going to go back to my safe, warm, comfortable home that I've done nothing to deserve. I don't know, and I'm so sorry!"

I had to leave to go pick up some teammates, but I so much want to go back in time and be able to tell my translator friend that he and his wife (still in Afghanistan) can come sleep in my living room, eat my food, and live a life of safety and love. I wish I could change the color of their passport to mine, but instead I'm left trusting that God knows what's best and that prayer is powerful!

Lessons from Trash

A group of us sat around a circular table chatting after a simple meal together. We had few things in common with each other, representing nations spread all across the globe. The two things we did have in common were loving Jesus and having spent time cleaning rubbish at the nearby refugee camp. Laughter began to circulate as crazy stories were shared: things we'd clean, people who'd helped us, what we'd seen, etc. I know it sounds absurd, but it was an incredibly bonding time together.

The leader of our group shared how a few weeks prior he'd spent the day cleaning disgusting filth, only to be invited to preach at a nearby church the following morning. From a position of lowliness to a place revered in a matter of hours! As he was preparing to preach, the thought came to his mind that very few people are in this position. Powerful lessons had been gained from the humility of cleaning another person's filth. Perhaps more street sweepers should be given a chance to preach?! But then another thought entered his mind: "Perhaps the other way would be more accurate: more pastors should occasionally take a position of street sweepers!"

I've found it interesting that when I'm serving tea and soup in the tent or playing with children, people from other organizations or even the refugees approach me and are interested in conversing. I'm from America, I've studied at a university, I've worked various jobs, traveled, and I have a family they'd like to hear more about. But when I don the gloves, grab the dust pan and broom, it is like I become an entirely different person! Most people don't acknowledge me, eye contact is avoided, and few words are spoken. I have become the lowest of the low at the camp in that moment. At times my pride has been insulted, and I am angry that I'm treated differently- don't they know who I am!? But most of the time I like to try to redeem the humanity of a person of lowly stature. I greet them, I smile, I am funny, and I watch how their demeanor changes. It's also fun to use my low position to elevate others in similar places. The porta-potty cleaners have become my friends that I'm always excited to see. Neither have their teeth or any sense of propriety, but they light up when they see me now. Most people don't acknowledge them or even look their way. It's almost like we are afraid of what is unclean, as if it will contaminate us or our reputation. We spend so much time trying to climb up, that to look down would harm something about us.

When I think about Christ, I think the picture of becoming a trash cleaner in a refugee camp fits His leaving heaven quite well! The things I've seen and had to do are unmentionable in most circles, but how much more Christ in all His glory, perfection, and holiness to come to our vile, filthy, sin-ridden planet to live among us in suffering, lack, and brokenness!! He chose humility not just at the cross, but actually with His entire 33 years among humanity. My mind can't wrap around this very well!

As we wrapped up our discussion at the table that evening, the leader stated that rubbish cleaning has been one of the most powerful times of worship for him. In fact, the song: "Here I am to worship, here I am to bow down..." plays on repeat in his head. What a picture of worship: bowing down to clean the filth of another... A sweet picture of Christ! May we all have chances to be more like Him in His humility.

Windows into a Refugee Soul

I'm currently living in Šid, Serbia for a month to help with the thousands of refugees that are crossing the border on their way to Western Europe. Every day I get the opportunity to love and serve them in various ways. My favorite has been listening to their stories verbally and nonverbally. I'd like to share a few with you.

She was a little girl of about 10 years of age. I first noticed the large tears rolling down her cheeks. Next I took in the fact that her grandfather had her by one elbow and was pulling her across the room toward me; her sleeve pushed halfway up her arm. As she got closer, I noticed the large blisters and the red skin from the third degree burn spanning the circumference of her wrist. One word was said: "Doctor?" I put my arm around her shoulders and led her to the onsite doctor's office. I will not go into how much I disagreed with the doctor's methods, but he was far from gentle. As he stuck a needle into each blister half a dozen times, the little girl didn't even shed many tears or utter a single noise. As he pushed and prodded the water to escape through the tiny holes, I held her close, knowing if I was in that chair I would've been holding back screams and wanting to punch the doctor. She barely even flinched through it all. When I took her back to her mother, her mom didn't even once ask how her daughter was, but rather, upon seeing her, told her to go get something for her little brother. This family is from Afghanistan, a place wrought with pain and suffering. Why coddle your child when they will be growing up in the midst of horrific difficulty? A third degree burn is nothing to someone living in a war torn country and now a refugee!

I sat drinking apple juice in the nearby petrol station on a much needed break. As I finished, my thoughts turned back to the tasks awaiting me outside. Slowly I started the walk back into the camp when I noticed a woman a few years younger than myself sitting behind a light pole weeping. Her head covering hid much of her face, but I could tell something was very wrong as I took a seat next to her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. She didn't speak English, so there was no response to my or my coworker's inquiries. She gingerly touched the side of her face, and I noticed a massive welt partially hidden by her head scarf. All of the sudden two people walked up and explained in Serbian that she had just been shoved down in the middle of the street by her husband. He then proceeded to beat her, punching her repeatedly in the face. We tried to take her to the doctor or seek help of another sort, but she just kept responding: "No, no, no..." with fear in her eyes. To be seen with us or anyone else was to likely invoke another beating from her husband that I am sure was lurking somewhere nearby. Her name and the fact that she is pregnant haunt my thoughts. She represents to me thousands of women worldwide who have no voice, no rights, and seemingly no hope.

The trip from Syria to Germany is a difficult and dangerous one, so I am always surprised when I see someone with a disability or ailment coming through the camp. One small boy in particular caught my eye. He was young, but likely older than he looked. His head was misshapen and very large. First glance revealed that his legs didn't work properly, and his body was smaller than it should've been. He was seated in the middle of the table with his father sitting next to him. People openly stared, but no one had wanted to be seated at the table with them. I eagerly walked over and began to engage the little boy in trying to get him to throw a mandarin to me like a baseball. No words came out of his mouth, just clicks of the tongue and motioning with his eyes that detailed his thoughts. The father spoke no English, but through hand motions and mutual words (family, doctor, Syria) I pieced their story together.  His wife was still in Syria with seven of their eight children. This was his youngest son. The doctor in Syria could do nothing to help this little guy and recommended they go to Germany to get medical help. There was a new tumor growing on the back of the boy's head, and fear shone out of the dad's eyes as he showed it to me. There is a common thought expressed by many organizations at the camp that a lot of the refugees don't take care much for their children. Babies get left behind in the beds when the buses go in the middle of the night. Small children play for hours with us in the tent, and we never once see a parent checking in on them. But as I looked at the relationship between this father and son, tears sprung into my eyes. This little boy had nothing to offer his dad, he couldn't even talk with him or know what was going on. But just like the Good Shepherd leaving the 99 to search for the 1 sheep, this father left his family and risked his life and spent all his finances on the hope of some medical help. The love I saw shining in their eyes when they looked at each other took my breath away. I don't know what the outcome will be, but my earnest hope and prayer is that Love will win!

I've found that I look much younger than I in fact am. After explaining to two 17 year old boys that I could potentially be their mother, they then invited me to sit down with their "family" at their table. Both of these boys were traveling alone, their family all back in Syria. They'd met up with each other and this other family along the way and had adopted each other. I would've never been able to tell that they weren't blood related. Having been through such horrors together, the bond between them was strong. As one boy translated, they began to ask me dozens of questions, eager to know all about this crazy American who'd come to Serbia to help. As I mentioned the death of my mother earlier this year, the boy translating got very quiet and serious. In what was the most sincere sympathy I've ever experienced he looked me in the eye and grieved with me. I was a bit shocked. How could a teenage boy understand loss so well? But as I looked at him, I thought about the war and how he'd just left his family and all that was familiar in hopes of a better life. It is I who has much to learn from these amazing people I meet every day!

I've joked that if I was a refugee I'd be dead by now. Upon arriving here I fell severely ill with what I have witnessed is a common sickness among the refugees. Words can't describe how awful I felt! I can't imagine walking in the snow with little clothing on while being so sick. I can't fathom caring for children when I have no way to provide even their basic needs. I can't picture how I'd keep going when I've not had a bed or shower in over a month. However, I've never once heard any of them complain! As they share their stories the difficulties aren't highlighted nor is sympathy sought. They even try to give to me out of their nothingness. They struggle to communicate thankfulness in their broken English. And every day I walk away humbled... If the tables were turned, I can only imagine I'd be barely making it, completely self-absorbed. But these people, the thousands of faces burned into my memory, are beautiful, and truly I wish I could be more like them!

Ignorance is Sin

There's a story from my high school World History class that has haunted my heart for years. After WWII when the concentration camps were liberated, soldiers went into the surrounding villages nearby to inquire about what had been going on. The townspeople most often responded that they weren't aware that there was a camp so close by. Someone in my class asked my teacher how they could just not know that the concentration camp was a mile away when there were people being tortured, bodies were being burned, and horrors beyond imagination were taking place. Surely they must have seen, heard, or smelled something in all those years?! My teacher responded that sometimes things can be so horrific that one's mind simply shuts out the idea that it is even a possibility. I've heard of the same thing happening with a mother whose husband is abusing her daughter. All the signs and symptoms are present, but the thought of that going on is too terrible for her mind to even entertain that thought.

My pastor, Matt Chandler, has made a point of brining up the hot topics of our day and age in his sermons. Racial reconciliation and abortion are two regular occurrences in his speaking. He's often tied the two together through the question that plagues a lot of our hearts toward older relatives regarding the 50's and 60's during the civil rights movement: "Where were you and what were you doing to help?" That very same question is one he feels will arise with this next generation regarding abortion. Where were we and what were we doing to help as innocent babies were slaughtered by the millions?! When I think about the refugee crisis the same thought comes to mind. As thousands upon thousands of people are being displaced world wide every day, people are being murdered in cold blood in their homes in dozens of countries, grandmothers and small children are being forced to sleep in the freezing rain and mud, and the horrifying list goes on endlessly.... where are we and what are we doing to help??

There are many times when I start to think and try to imagine what it tangibly means that close to 60 million people in the world have no home right now. My mind wants to block it out, pretend that it's not real. To not think about winter moving in. To not put myself in their shoes. To decide that it's too big of an issue, and I'm just one person so there's no point in doing anything. My flesh wants to do all these things, but "true religion is this: to look after the widow and orphan in their distress..." (James 1:27) If I say I love God and don't love my brother, I am a liar (1 John 4:8,20). I cannot turn my back on these things! I cannot choose ignorance!

Jesus is calling, beckoning you to come lay down your life, your comfort, your selfishness, your safety, your money for Him by loving the least of these. Will you obey? Or when our children's children look back on this will you be someone from a nearby place claiming you didn't know?