Sometimes things go as expected. More often, they really don’t. They really really don’t. We were in Albania. Surprise! You’re going to Greece now to work with refugees. So now we’re in Greece. You’re going to be passing out blankets and food and bus tickets. Surprise! We need someone to dig a ditch. Any volunteers?
…Yes? Yes.
I think the first paragraph can be read as sarcastic or critical or something else negative,
but it was completely literal and sincere, and I was actually pretty happy to start off day
one with some manual labor.
God can be pretty cool with his placement of people and events and expectations.
That being said, I was intimidated by the possibilities ahead of me. We were told that we
would see hard things. People died on the water and in the camps. These people are
traumatized, and we’re the ones there to witness it first hand. To be completely honest, I
expected to cry a lot while we were here and I didn’t know how I was going to be able to
work and witness and serve. I didn’t know if I would be strong and steadfast enough to
extend a helping hand to someone in so much pain. I readied myself to be able to cry and
work at the same time.
Our vans dropped us off on day one, and it was raining. Not just a little bit, but a
torrential downpour that would last (with small breaks) for almost three days. We crowded
through a gap in the fencing to a gravel compound that held puddles ranging from three to
fifteen feet across and were usually about three inches deep.
We were introduced to Immanuel, a drenched site coordinator who had been sleeping on site in a storage container with two pairs of clothes with him (one dry and one drenched) and he began dividing up the work. I started off passing out tea to the refugees and–in 100% honesty–I was afraid. It was an ignorant fear. Who were they? Where were they from? Were they threatening? Would they overwhelm me in sheer panic and trample me as they had others before?
They did snatch the tea from my tray with desperation, but they had little to no interest in
me. They were also not threatening. They were tired and scared and cold. In hindsight I’m
amused by my initial responses and my ignorance, but I didn’t know what to expect.
The refugees came in semi regularly, and we guided them around the puddles to a tent. We gave them dry clothes and blankets. Then regretfully informed them that the buses were not coming this evening, so they would be sleeping here.
The rain continued. At 50 refugees per boat the camp filled quickly. Nothing changed the demeanor of the camp more than the phrase “8 boats are coming in.” Soon our tent was nearing full, but the more pressing issue was the amount of water collecting inside the camp.
“Hey, we need a couple of guys who can dig a trench so the water in the tent can drain
properly.”
One thing I will be forever grateful for is that my parents made sure that I am not afraid
of manual labor. I volunteered myself immediately and asked for Jamison to help as well. We went out back with two shovels and began the labor. The stretch of soil where we needed to dig was short, so I did not think it would be difficult.
My first strike of the shovel was met with an immediate clang and a jarring stop. Ok. Found a rock. No big deal. I moved over a bit and struck again. Clang. Moved a bit. Clang. Moved a bit. Clang.
At this point, it was no longer a sick joke of probability. Jamison asked if we were trying
to dig out a concrete slab. There were many rocks in this soil. Instead of the occasional
strike of a rock, I was overjoyed whenever my shovel sank completely. Jamison and I toiled away until a trench between the camp’s drainage pipe and the hill was complete. It started a good flow of water, but there was more work to be done. Inside the camp, the pooled water had no method of guidance towards the trench, so I began digging a
much smaller rut so that good ol’ gravity would take the water where it needed to go.
I dug for the entirety of my eight hour shift (I was SOAKED), and by the end of it the puddle had drained from the refugee tent and we were able to replace the wet sleeping mats with dry ones.
I was exceedingly thankful for many reasons. The manual labor was therapeutic in a way, and it allowed me to contribute to the lives of the refugees in a way I was emotionally ready. It was also no small task and extremely gratifying. On top of this, I was also able to watch the national process of erosion. For those that don’t know, I really enjoy geology,
and am fascinated by the earth that God has created for us. When you watch a small stream cut through soft soil or sand and carve out a bed for itself, and then you watch that small rut carve away until the “river bed” is wide and the flow slows, you are watching hundreds of years worth of river erosion in a matter of minutes (though on a very small scale). I don’t doubt that God knew I would revisit a small joy that I hadn’t seen since high school.
Things don’t go as expected… for us. But they go as expected for God, and this is a
particular instance where I am exceedingly grateful for how good he is, and how intricate his plan is.
