We took a taxi to the house and shoved open the rusted, broken gate to walk up to the door. I kicked my shoes off and lined them up outside. I walked inside and shook the first woman’s hand, kissed her cheek once on the left and twice on the right… or maybe there was another added, and smiled. Once in the room, a woman in her 70’s was sitting on the mat farthest from the door, she had on a head scarf, and a blanket to keep warm, and she smiled as we took turns greeting her. I took a spot on the mat, and stuck my backpack in the corner, as the husband came in and greeted us. A blanket was brought in and placed over our feet to stay warm, and a mini gas stove/ heater sat not too far from my feet. I said, “Sucran” (rather repetitively since it’s one of the few Arabic words I know) and made a few extreme facial gestures to let them know I appreciated the welcome.
The few of us sat along the wall, and the guy we came with started chatting with them in Arabic. I looked around at their faces, gentle and kind, then at the white unfinished walls with splotches of paint, then at the carpet, then at the mats, then at the little girl who bounced into the room to sit on her dads lap. Our friend translated that they had come from Syria, about five years ago. The father worked in construction, and the dad kissed his daughter’s head as we listened. They had three other children, two of whom were at school when a bomb hit. The second daughter came in, and they showed us the scar on her head from pieces of falling debris that gashed it during the explosion. She was in third grade and smiled shyly at us and then ran across the room to cover up with the blanket and sit next to her grandma.
This was my first house visit.
Last night, I was listening to “Merry Little Christmas”, on the roof of our building but couldn’t finish it as I watched the lights fill in the windows of houses in the city below me, knowing that many of the families that are within the walls of them are displaced from their war torn countries; people who worry about whether their family will make it across the border of Jordan, or whether their husband who’s been missing for five years is still alive and still feeding on the hope that he is, worrying about how they will pay for rent, or what job they can find, or how their traumatized child will ever get a good education, and matters that seem bigger than Christmas trees and presents. “From now on our troubles will be miles away…” made my stomach turn in knots as I could only think how far from the truth that would be for many.
I listen to the man lying on a mat, holes in his socks, covered with a blanket, who came to Jordan two years ago from Syria, suffering from a brain tumor; who follows the Quran down to the marriage of multiple wives.
I smile at the four year old little boy pointing at his stencil telling me the words for goose in Arabic, whose teeth are rotted out from a possible thyroid problem, whose bones are not growing properly, but who’s parents don’t have money to give him proper nutrition or doctors visits.
I watch a father whisper something to his two year old son who then runs out of the room, and comes back with cigarettes and a lighter.
I pull apart two children on the playground who are pulling hair, and hitting, and send them down two opposite slides. Kids who have been in school as bombs exploded around them and burned their skin and who have seen people die before their eyes.
I laugh with the family who has just prepared a giant lunch to share with us as they hug their two kids. The family whose son in the eighth grade gets bullied by Jordanian kids because he’s Syrian. Whose father shows us the school book he is studying to help him find a job to support his family, though he had a solid job in Syria.
I swing kids around in the next room over from the parents, as they got too hyper to listen to the conversation their mom was having about how the Bible teaches that Christ died for his bride, the church. But how the Quran states a man can marry multiple times, to which one man ecstaticly agreed.
I watch a mother holding her daughter patiently as the little girl wraps her face in the mother’s head scarf and laughs, again and again, she pulls it down, then pulls it over the mother’s face, then over hers. The mom laughs and continues talking, and telling us about how her and her husband first met.
Before this year.. before this month.. I had heard of families, prayed for them, read about the crisis, and now I am meeting them. They offer us hospitality though they have next to nothing, the kids are jumping on our laps, they pour us tea and coffee, the woman is telling us “this person died, this person died, this person died, OH and would you like some tea!?” – an actual conversation that happened today- and I’m wondering… what is Your plan God?
But then I go to a building complex where widows and children live. They have been meeting for a long time and are practicing listening prayer, they see the star of Bethlehem, a woman sees a swirling galaxy of stars, another sees a bright glow. I get the word “joy is attainable in the midst of suffering”. They’re being taught about Jesus. About the Holy Spirit. I am privelaged to be here and to know Jesus and as I pray, and say, “Lord, please bring peace to Syria”, and the translator translates it to the family, I sit there for a second and think, “What an impossible prayer, it feels like something way too large to ask.” But why ask the God of the universe for anything smaller?
As I overlook the town of Mafraq… thinking that as bleak as this seems… Jesus is here. He was born. He died for our sins. It will never be as dark as it was before He came. Joy to the world is real. Radiance is a repeating theme, light is a repeating theme. The church has beams of radiant light decorating their ceilings, the hospital, that instead of seeking medicine first goes to prayer and 80% are healed through prayer alone, has a name that means light, a woman we met named Nora shares excitedly that her name means light, the Syrian women saw stars and glowing light, our team chose the name Radiance because many words we got were associated with it….Jesus is bringing light to hopeless places and for that we can be thankful and hopeful.
Pray for people to get dreams, and visions, for God to meet their needs physically, spiritually and in every way. Pray for us to have the faith to believe in audacious miracles, for families to be reunited, for the kids to get the help they need psychologically and physically, for the women to feel valuable and loved and empowered, for families to treat each other as if every day was the last, for parents to get along and reflect Jesus’ kind of love, and for the nation of Syria to grow in their faith of Jesus; so WHEN peace comes to Syria, they can go home and tell of the times Jesus answered impossible prayers.
