Twelve months ago, I made a commitment. I committed to eleven months on the field in Eastern Europe, Africa, and South America. I committed to raising the full amount necessary to live out eleven months on the field.
Greece has made me question the commitment every single day I have lived on this island. Greece has made me ask the “what if” questions – what if I break my commitment, what if I stay here in Molyvos, what if I jump into long-term missions right now, what if I quit the World Race…
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I stand at the table, cutting bananas in half. We have just heard there are three full boats on the shore, about one hundred and fifty people total. I have already made sure I am stocked on water bottles, about five extra packs stacked next to the table ready if needed. Vans begin to arrive. Becky stands at the front gate, greeting each person as they enter camp. She waves in five to ten people at a time and they make their way towards me. Many are soaking wet, many are missing their shoes and have their pants rolled up, and the children are wrapped in emergency blankets. They cringe as they walk barefoot on the rocks. Their faces are blank, emotionally drained. My heart just breaks for these beautiful humans as they politely turn down a water bottle and banana. Once they receive their bus tickets, nearly all of them receive clean dry clothes to change into.
In just three days, nearly 1,000 people went through camp during my shifts. Each day, from 7:30am to 4:30pm, I prepped bananas, I retrieved and stocked water bottles, I oversaw the making of tea and food to serve, and I kept a clean orderly kitchen. The food tent felt like home and I absolutely reveled in being at camp for long hours. At the end of each shift, even though I was always exhausted after standing on my feet for nine hours, I had a hard time leaving. It would not have taken anything to convince me to stay for a second shift had it been needed.
Our first six shifts at camp, we did not have a single refugee come through. They were evening shifts from 4:30pm to 11:30pm. There were contributing factors to not having any boats come in: the waters were rough and the Turkish Coast Guard was patrolling the water to arrest the smugglers taking boats across. I was not bothered by the fact we were not seeing refugees. I knew when they did come in to camp others were there to greet them and show them love. I also knew the down time we were given with no refugees coming through camp gave me time to get to know the other volunteers. There are volunteers from all over the world, many from the States but also many from all over different countries in Europe. I had the chance to distance myself from my lovely teammates, whom I spend every day with, to get to know others. I was able to build friendships which will last a lifetime.
We have also worked a handful of shifts called “mobile shifts” during the day. These shifts can be absolutely anything – ministering to the locals, helping out in the donation tent, loading trucks to send donated items elsewhere, picking up trash all over town and the beaches, and shifts at other camps. We spent two different days at Moria, a refugee camp closer to Mytilene (where they catch the ferry to Athens); every single refugee goes through this camp because it is where they get registered. Moria is overwhelming and unorganized and chaotic and emotionally draining. This camp is not easy for the refugees. The camp changes their rules and how they do things just about every day without any explanation or informing refugees. The refugees are not told very much and often have many unanswered questions. They stand in lines to register, lines for food, and lines for clothes for long periods of time and are often just told “later, later.” The line for registration is not even a line; it is a massive blob of people standing chest to back, hoping they will get registered before night falls. People sleep in tents and on cardboard everywhere, babies and toddlers are often found screaming, parents are blank faced and emotionally drained. Refugees are here for days at a time living in complete chaos with very little information. I spent the entire day I was there trying not to cry.
One of the days at Moria has left an imprint on my heart; it is a day I will not ever forget. A fight broke out in the middle of the registration line. The police came barreling in with their protective shields and their helmets on as they screamed at the crowd to back off. With a little help from a refugee who spoke the native language and English, we were able to get the crowd to calm down and take a seat in the chaos. The police asked us to stand along the edge of the crowd and only let people in with the correct ticket numbers. For many who walked up trying to get in line, all I could do was say “not yet, later.” I did not want to be just one more person they heard the word “later” from, but Moria has very few translators available and I could not answer their questions.
At my feet sat a family with young children. The youngest was a boy about five. He sat on his father’s lap, snuggling in his father’s arms. When he would look up at me, I would make a funny face at him and watch him break out in a smile. We played this game for quite a while. I handed this little boy a bright yellow balloon; the smile broke out on his face, a wide toothy smile melting my heart. His father found some tape and made a string for the balloon. This sweet boy was completely enchanted; as he played and played, the father relaxed and eventually smiled and laughed. Before we left, the father asked us to take a photo for them of their family – his wife and three children. As Louise handed him his camera back, I watched as he pulled a protective case from around his neck under his jacket. Inside were all of their documents and passports, everything important to them as a family; this is where he stored the camera. I walked away with tears pooling in my eyes, trying so hard to not openly cry as we walked past the registration line and a very vocal protest. This was over a week ago and as I write this right now, I am openly crying.
I have completely fallen in love with Molyvos, the small town we live in about forty minutes from camp. The homes are red roofed and a complete maze to walk through, sitting beneath an old castle. The town sits right on the Aegean Sea and Turkey can be seen across the water from one side of town. Foothills surround Molyvos. There are sheep and goats everywhere. The gyros taste like heaven. The supermarket owner is the sweetest man you will ever meet. The locals love to help people learn Greek and show much grace when you butcher a word or phrase.
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I asked one of the other volunteers (an alum Racer) if Racers had ever quit the World Race to stay in a country they felt called to. She told me it has happened previously, but she led me to Philippians 1:6, “And I am sure of this, that he who began a good work in you will bring it to completion at the day of Jesus Christ.” She explained how God called me to the World Race and because He has called me, I need to complete it.
This month has really begun to stir a calling to long-term missions in my heart, a calling to serve the lost and the broken. I have no idea how this will look in the future, but I know now I will complete the World Race, I will continue to dig deeper in my relationship with the Lord, and I will be willing to shout “yes” from the mountain tops when He reveals what is next after the World Race.
Through it all, through it all, my eyes are on You
and through it all, through it all, it is well
and through it all, through it all, my eyes are on You, and it is well with me
