My heart has been broken. Probably for the first time ever. God is allowing me to experience what he’s gone through for thousands of years now. And it hurts.
When I first found out that I’d be heading to Lesvos I was beyond ecstatic. But I didn’t know why. Maybe to work with the refugees or to be a part of this major crisis. Before I came to Lesvos, I received a lot of information and updates from the media about the refugees and the crisis. When it comes down to it I really didn’t know what I was getting myself into. But one thing I’ve realized is that what I’ve experienced here on the island and at the refugee camp are completely different than what the media portrays. The refugees that I’ve spent time with are the most genuine people I’ve ever met. Every refugee has lost at least one friend or family member. I’ve heard stories of kidnapping, rape, torture and beatings that happen while trying to get to Greece from their homeland. Why endure all of these things just to end up in a refugee camp? It’s safer for refugees to be in a detention center than in their homeland where they’ve lost their homes, family members and their cities have been destroyed.
Two days ago, I went to the life-jacket “graveyard” here on the island. This graveyard consists of hundreds of boats that have fallen a part and around 500,000 life-jackets that contain fake buoyancy material that when wet will sink not float. I still couldn’t grasp the magnitude of this situation. Until yesterday.
It was midnight and I walked up to the front entrance of Moria which is the refugee camp turned detention center aka “prison.” I took a deep breath, walked in and that’s when it begun. The first thing I noticed were the 200 pakistani men laying on the ground in protest to being held captive here at Moria. Next, I saw a group of teenage boys playing soccer then the rows and rows of tents that filled the entire camp. These tents have been converted to houses now for the thousands of people that sleep in them. Try to imagine that. You and your children sleeping in a house that is smaller than my dinner table.
After being given a walkie talkie, a bright yellow security vest and keys to the level 2 family center gate I waited. And waited. The next 8 hours completely changed my life. Then an Iranian man walked up and begun to speak broken English. Then a woman from Iraq walked up. Minutes later I realize I’m sitting in a circle of people from Afghanistan, Pakistan, Syria, Iraq, Iran and the United States. The Kingdom of God was taking place right before my eyes. Becca and I sat and talked for hours with our new friends. We learned Arabic, Farsi and Pashto. We talked about our lives back home, they shared why they were here and how they got here. They begin to tear up as they talk about the family they’ve left behind. They share horror stories about what they’ve endured. One man has lost his leg to a suicide bomber. Another his entire house. Another their family is gone. How do you respond to these stories? You don’t. I couldn’t.
Throughout the night people started heading to bed but at 6 am we still had two of our new friends with us. One was a guy from Afghanistan. He became not just a friend but a brother. He showed me pictures of his family back home then he bought us food and made sure everyone ate. He helped me clean the facility by taking out the trash and dumpsters. He came up with a secret handshake for us. He wanted to wait until 8 am before heading to bed so he could walk Becca and I out. An hour before our shift was over we encouraged him to get some sleep. Before he left he wrapped his arms around me and picked me up to show how much the last few hours meant to him. I experienced so much peace and joy by just sitting, laughing and joking with our new friends those past few hours than I had in awhile.
The last day and half have allowed me to reflect over my night shift at Moria. It’s been a hard 36 hours but so good at the same time.
The Lord is allowing my heart to be broken so I can feel what he feels. He’s allowing my heart to be broken like His.
