How do I begin to describe to you, dear reader, what my life was like this last week in Belgrade, Serbia? My words are few, but my emotions are plenty. I saw and felt more pain and bravery, fear and hope, longing and seeking, than I have ever experienced in my entire life.
My team came to Belgrade to work with the refugees that live here in one of the camps, if you can even call it that. This camp is a broken down train station, old and useless, barely a home to these men. We came in thinking that it would be with women, children, and men, and that they would be from Syria, because that was all we had seen in the news. That was, however, an incorrect assumption. The refugees we meet with every day were all men, that is if you could call all of them that, since they are primarily teenagers with a handful of 20-30 somethings. These young men have been travelling for many months to years for some. They are majority from Afghanistan and Pakistan, all have left to escape to the ongoing war in their homeland, and the threat of being forced into the Taliban.
I must admit, I am quite ignorant. Not because I am an American, although it does play a small role in my ignorance. Mostly, I am ignorant because I only knew what I saw or read in the news. I knew about the war, when it started and why it started, I’ve known it most of my life since it has been active for 16 years now. I have personally known soldiers that fought on my country’s side, having friends and cousins that served in the Middle East. I have heard and read about the Taliban, and about ISIS, just as the rest of the world has.
And I’ll admit, and please forgive me for doing so, that I have had thoughts in the past accusing the entirety of these countries and their people for these awful and inhumane groups. However, I am so thankful for my new friends that showed me the truth about who they are. They are fun, hospitable, and caring despite their past experiences and trials.
Throwing a birthday party for one of our new friends.
My new friends shared many stories with me about their lives back home. I met a boy, about 16, who showed me his scar on his stomach. It went from his belly button to his chest. “This is from a bomb,” he says. Later, he mentioned that he liked my shoes, “Nike’s, nice shoes. Want to trade?” Yes, I said, nice shoes, they’re good for running. “I can’t run, I was shot here three years ago,” touching his upper right thigh. The bullet went in one side and out the other. I asked him who shot him, he said “an American soldier.” All I could say was “I’m sorry that happened to you.”
It was an unsettling coincidence that during this week with them that the US dropped a bomb in Afghanistan. And I get it, this was to fight ISIS, but my first thought when I read the headlines was, “but that’s my new friends home…” That next day, a few of them invited me and some of my teammates into their barrack for a cup of coffee. This small room, three quarters of the size of my own back home, housed 9 people that slept on dirty mattresses and sleeping pads. I asked one of them if they had heard about the bomb. Yes, of course they had, they said. I asked, “is that anyone’s hometown?” And I received an answer I hoped not to hear, “yes, it was mine,” one in the back said as he looked up at me with sad, honest eyes.
Hospitality and Friendship
I don’t often feel my heart fall into my stomach, unless it’s from having fun driving fast up and down hills. But, I felt it again when I heard his words. I asked him if his family was okay, “I don’t know, but I think so.” Reassuring in a way, but still unsettling to think that from the worlds perspective, him and I were enemies. That we were supposed to be at war with one another. But he did not blame me or curse me away for being an American, although he had every right to. And I did not fear him or call him a terrorist, as many American’s would stereotype him as. He gave me warm coffee and hospitality, and I did as Jesus told me to, “love one another.”
We both knew that the other was a human being, a person who was simply living and trying to be as good as they could. His reasoning may not have been as mine, because I live my life in the hopes of being just like Jesus. But, religion aside, we are the same. I am a person, and he is a person too. Simple as that.
Painting the barracks to add some beauty
If the rest of the world could see it that way, these young men would not have to live in such terrible conditions. They should have the opportunity to see the world as I do. Instead, they are turned away at many borders, and beaten and abused at most for trying to enter. I wish they could be seen as people that are just trying to live a better life than they have opportunity for back home. I hope that one day soon the world would look at them through cleaner lenses, and see them as human beings.
Sleeping pads and blankets where men lay on the dirty floors.
They are not just refugees, even the definition of the word understands that. “A person who has been forced to leave their country in order to escape war, persecution, or natural disaster.”
As I stood with them in line for food or supplies, I liked to ask them one of my favorite questions, “what country are you hoping to make it to?” I heard many answers, like France, Italy, Germany, Belgium, Scotland, Denmark, even Norway for some. It’s the ‘getting there’ that’s difficult. We are all humans of the same world, why are some limited on where they can go? Why are some not given the chance to make a better life for themselves? I know there are laws in place, and that they should be respected, but for now it is my prayer that borders would begin to open and these people would not find themselves stranded as they seek asylum in a better land.
These young men showed me friendship, love, even chivalry, and welcomed me into their lives. They invited me into their stories and shared their struggles, hopes and dreams with me. They helped transform my view on the world.
So, mom and dad, I’m no longer ignorant. Your little girl has grown up. She has seen many things and learned many things about this world and its people, and one thing I learned this week was this: a human is a human, no matter their ethnicity, race, religious heritage, or people group they associate with. All people are created equal, but that doesn’t mean all people are bad. I believe that we were created to be good, but we all fall short of that goodness. That’s why so often in scripture we are reminded to pursue righteousness.
The Bible tells us that all have fallen short, “all have sinned,” Romans 3:23. And it also reminds us that it is “by grace that we are saved,” Ephesians 2:8. And it tells us that “while we were once sinners, Christ died for us,” Romans 5:8. I understand better now how all have sinned, how we are all equal in that area. But I also understand better God’s perfect and life-giving grace and love for all. Christ died for me, He died for you; He died for the whole world.
And there is no fear in love. Because I know Jesus, I know love. Love lives and moves and breathes inside me. Therefore, I don’t have to fear myself, and I don’t fear other people. I only fear God, out of holy reverence and honor for who He is. That love is the source of everything I do, it is the river that flows inside of and out of me. I pray that you would know this love today, and that you would not hold it back from anyone, even when the world is telling you to.
Blessings,
Hope
*Here is a recent news clip on the barracks- http://www.voanews.com/a/bleak-barracks-hold-lure-for-serbia-refugees/3736270.html
