It’s the World Race, round 2. It’s slightly strange to walk forward in this once again. I’ve got some notches in my belt this go-around: some emotions processed and a bit of personal unhealth dealt with and a handful of long days of travel navigated. Going again provides this really great parallel to gain perspective and process growth: how am I different today than at my original launch? On my first travel days? At my first ministry location? Overall I have to say that it’s been cause for much celebration of what the Lord has done in my life over the last 2 years. There’s more peace and less anxiety; more freedom and less shame; more love and less fear.
Our first days of travel were relatively short by World Race standards but lengthy nonetheless. We left our hotel at 9am on Wednesday September 9th to head to the airport. That evening, we flew to Chicago and ultimately took a flight to Istanbul that left around 11pm. After nearly ten hours in the air, we made our relatively quick connection to fly to Belgrade, Serbia. Upon arrival, we hauled our big black duffle bags from the luggage belt and said “see ya next month!” to squad mates heading to various ministry locations around Serbia, Montenegro and Albania. Our gaggle of 6 girls hoisted our luggage onto carts and shoulders and meandered out into the crisp Serbian night air. We found a shuttle to take us to the bus station and waited for it to make it’s first drop off and return to collect us. With three World Race teams’ worth of people and baggage and one lone Serbian man, our shuttle looked like a clown car. We hauled our things through the drizzling rain under the cover of the bus station while tickets were purchased. Two teams got their tickets and headed off to catch their bus.
Tabitha returned to us with a smirk and said “Well, the last bus to Negotin has gone for the night so the first ticket out is at 6:45am!” Laughter covered nerves and we sought a place of warmer shelter for the night. A couple of teammates set up sleeping pads and attempted to sleep. We sipped coffee from small plastic cups and enjoyed warm croissants filled with tart berries.
As the night progressed, we dug more layers from our bags, hoping to combat the chill in the air. Around 3 am, the bus station became very loud and very busy. People flooded down the hallway in tattered clothing and well-worn shoes, clutching grocery bags and hands of small children. They set up spaces across from us, laying down mismatched blankets and huddling in close to one another. Groups of men perched on the curb, chatting and chain-smoking. Women with heads covered distributed snacks and drinks to their comrades. Initially, I was incredibly confused. Was 3am the happening time to be at the Belgrade bus station? Were these people homeless or just waiting for incredibly early buses? After some time, someone in our group said “I wonder if they’re Syrian refugees?” We speculated back and forth and ultimately it was confirmed when we met Yousrah.
She approached us slowly, shivering in the night air. In hesitant English she asked if we had any blankets to spare for her children. She told us that they were fleeing Syria and were very tired and cold. She had money but no place to stay and no idea of where to purchase clothes. We immediately pulled off the Turkish Airline blankets covering our legs and handed them to her. She thanked us profusely and disappeared behind a door. But I wanted to know more!
Our group spoke in soft voices about the weight of the moment that we were in. We were literally sharing space with this group of people that we’d heard about on the news and would certainly be written about in history books. It felt serendipitous and right.
Twenty minutes later, Yousrah reappeared in the walkway, lighting a cigarette and walking toward us. We ushered her over and invited her to sit on our bags and share a sleeping bag for warmth. She reluctantly accepted the sleeping bag, tucking it around her legs and breathing deeply. She told us of her journey from Syria to Turkey to Macedonia to Serbia. She shared of her hope to reach Germany and her weariness of the journey. For a time, she’d taught Arabic in a university and had hopes to find a teaching job again. Her brother and uncle had both been killed and her house destroyed. Again and again she talked about her exhaustion for the journey and her desire to turn back but her hope for more.
Ultimately we said goodbye to Yousrah as she and her family pressed on toward the next destination. We gathered our bags and loaded our own bus, tired yet transformed.
I’ve realized that when I have the courage to release expectations and entitlement, I often have the chance to take hold of something rich and precious. I did not expect to spend the night on the cold, dirty pavement of the bus station. In some ways, I felt entitled to our travel plans working out more smoothly than that. But when I entered the space of acceptance and waiting, the Lord was incredibly near to me. He gifted me with patience and peace to sustain my waiting. And He allowed me to witness something life-altering and big—for a few short hours, I had a small glimpse of what life as a refugee is like. As a result, compassion sprung up in me. It’s given me this sense of urgency to share what I saw, what I heard, what I felt, in hopes that people who’ve seen the stories on the news would understand that these are real people with stories that are being deeply affected by war and evil.
Perhaps you’ve seen the stories and read reports and you’ve wanted to empathize but you just don’t know how to get there. They feel so very far away and there are so very many of them and it all feels like too much. There are big problems and big pains and you’re just one tiny little person! What really can you do???
I don’t necessarily have the answers to that. I have no earthly idea how we should go about fixing this problem. But maybe we’re approaching it in the wrong way. Maybe there’s no “fix”, let alone an easy one. However, I think that shifting our mindset away from an “us” and “them” is a start. It’s not “Those poor Syrian people! How horrifying!” It’s people who are suffering at the hands of other people who are overcome by evil. I don’t mean this to be trite, but it might just be as simple as legitimately praying for them and petitioning the Lord to move. I believe that he hears our prayers and he doesn’t always provide the answers that we’re looking for but He always provides more of Himself and I think that that matters more than answers ever will. In the much-quoted chapter 13 of Paul’s first letter to the Corinthians, he talks about love—what it is and what it isn’t. In the lead up to the well-known “love is patient, love is kind”, he talks about all of these gifts, these provisions, these “fixes” if you will, that don’t mean jack squat without love.
So maybe you’ll never house a Syrian refugee or solve World Hunger or usher in World Peace but I think that you can live a life that is wholehearted and connected and that will develop empathy and compassion and I think that just might usher in a piece of World Peace.
