Wednesday was our last shift at the refugee camp on the island of Lesvos.
My last shift started off rough, really rough. I was sick, my throat hurt, and all I wanted to do was sleep. But it was my last time to be there, a place I wasn’t ready to leave.
While I normally run the buses, my slight decline in health forced me to ask someone else to step in. My sweet teammate, Stephen, took over the buses, allowing me to lay low and organize the clothing tent for a little while before helping with the buses.
That day, two twenty day old babies came through the camp. Both mothers had given birth in foreign countries during their travels. Twenty days old, y’all. What a risk. And the mothers – twenty days after giving birth are making such a strenuous strip, a trip that involves incredible courage and incredible strength.
Another family is fleeing for the second time. They made this journey once and were living in Europe for four years until all of a sudden, they got deported home. Nine months later, they are fleeing again.
We met a man, 34 years old. He spoke English extremely well, though his accent was strong. While waiting for the bus, he shared his story with us. He was an English teacher, had an education, and was living in Iran. His family was Persian and he spoke several languages. His father is a Muslim, while his mother is not. His brother works for the police.
Several years ago, he befriended a girl. A girl who happened to be a Christian. He began to research Christianity and believed it to be true. The government was concerned for his relations with this girl and set him to prison for three months, beating him, hitting him, questioning him, and treating him very poorly.
He escaped with the help of his family and his family encouraged him to flee. His mother and his brother know that he is Christian, but his father does not.
This man left everything behind. He is grieving the loss of the life he has known to be true for the past 34 years. He is running, though to which country he isn’t sure.
But he has a plan. He wants to make a life and eventually, get his brother and his mother out of Iran, to wherever he is. I asked about his father, will you bring him over as well? Only if he wants to come, he shared.
This man had no idea we were Christians when he first started sharing his story. Even after everything he has experienced, everything he has sacrificed, and everything he has given up, this man has so much hope. He hasn’t lost his smile, and he hasn’t lost his joy.
Even though he still has joy, we could hear the discouragement in his voice as he shared his stories. The pain and the hurt he’s experienced from being betrayed by his own country, his own government.
This man is one of many. He isn’t the only refugee with hopes of a better life, with hopes of bringing more family over later. Each and every one of them has a story. Each and every one of them are mourning the life they’ve left behind.
We hear the word refugee and immediately a certain image pops into our minds. But the truth is, we are all refugees. Every single one of us is running away from something and running towards something else.
These people are so thankful for our help. These people, most of whom have only ever heard terrible things about America, have completely changed their mindsets on Americans. They have told us time and time again how incredible grateful they are for our services.
Leaving this island is hard. They don’t need money and they don’t need supplies. They need people, volunteers. Volunteers willing to sacrifice their time, willing to put in long shifts, willing to serve people that can’t communicate. Knowing how desperately these organizations need our help, yet having to leave anyways isn’t easy.
Regardless of what the news is or isn’t sharing, this crisis isn’t over. There are still thousands of people coming over to Greece every single day.
Right now, 15,000 refugees are at the port, waiting to get on a ferry that will take them to mainland Greece. They are waiting because for the past four days, there have been ferry strikes and none of the ferries have been running.
I keep saying if this was month eleven, my last month on the race, I wouldn’t be getting on a plane home. Not right away at least. I would be staying here to continue helping. Sorry Mom and Dad.
But it isn’t month eleven, it’s only the start of month three and there are several more countries expecting our arrival. Leaving is part of the journey.
But why does leaving have to be so hard?
This month has probably left most of Y squad with more questions than it has answers. Why them and not me? Why have I been given so many blessings when people are experiencing so much devastation? Why can’t I do more to help? Why is this happening?
This month left us with a whole lot of Why’s.
The pain and hurt we have experienced here isn’t even a fraction of the pain in this world.
This month, God didn’t just break our hearts, He shattered them. Completely and totally shattered. But He shattered them with the promise that He would put them back together.
Our squad was supposed to spend month three in Macedonia. Per usual, things have changed. Two teams will be staying here, working at the refugee camp. My team and Austin’s team will be going to Thessaloniki, Greece to work with refugees, though in what ways we are unsure. The remaining teams, the three all girls teams, will be going to different cities within Macedonia.
Due to the ferry strikes, the earliest ferry for us to book is on Wednesday. What the next few days will look like, we are unsure. We may be going back to work some more shifts at the camp and we may do something entirely different.
One of our squad coaches, a former marine, gave us the phrase, Semper Gumby, meaning always flexible.
Here’s to the unknown. Here’s to being flexible.
