It may be a dreary, drizzly, grey-skied afternoon here in Turkey, but in my heart, there is more than enough light to fill up this country!
We arrived here after a ten-hour overnight ride in a bus that, despite it’s luxurious appearance, was actually a glorified toaster oven. I was planning to get a good three more days out of the clothes I was wearing, but after we arrived, I knew there was no way I was getting through the rest of today in them.
Despite the incessant coughing, sneezing, and ever-present headache – my constant travel companions – I felt my croopy chest fill with a strange, thrilling excitement as we reached the border. My sleepless eyes caught the first glance of the bold-red Turkish flag, furling and unfurling in the early a.m. sky, the only moon and star visible in the cloudy night dancing in the symbol of Islam.
Due to several passport control issues, we boarded and reboarded the bus many times to get our passports stamped and pay our VISA fees. Feeling very, very drowsy and very, very sick, I stumbled to the last booth needed to get my VISA stamped before plunging headlong into this country that had, for hundreds of miles in Bulgarian advertisements, been completely characterized by Camel cigarette billboards.
The last one in line, I handed my passport to the border control guard, a professional-looking Turkish man in his thirties. I gave him a weary smile as he looked over my passport.
“Shannon?” He asked, in a very thick accent.
“Yes sir.” I replied, still smiling faintly.
Despite being a professional, he smiled back and said, “My name is Shirka.”
In that moment, I almost cried! I was filled with such a love for him and his people, for this country, for all their culture, ways, and lives. And why? Because this intimidating man gave me a small, friendly smile and told me his name.
With literal tears in my eyes, I whispered, “It’s nice to meet you, Shirka.”
As we passed over the border, I was hit full-on with things I can’t deny. God has given me a heart for the people of the Middle East like I’ve never felt for any group of people before. As I walked the cobblestone streets, flanked by the ornate spirals and domes of ancient mosques, passed by vendors hawking umbrellas and earrings, watched little old hijab-clad women strongarm their shopping bags through the crowds, and been the giver and recipient of many wide smiles, I am absolutely at home. In having seen about two streets and a Starbucks, I’m more than pretty sure I could live here.
Every pair of dark eyes I meet I’ve loved for years. I’d say I’m overwhelmed by love, but I don’t feel overwhelmed. “Overwhelmed” indicates a strong feeling of near-confusion at the passion and fervency of the emotion felt. However, I don’t feel confused. I feel as if I was made to love these people.
As we continue to define our days and learn more, remember us. We are remembering each of you every day and we love you very much!
