All day I’ve been trying to put my first day working at the transition point into words. I see flashes of moments in my mind of the afternoon that spilled into night. Faces. Lines of people. Shivering children. But mostly faces. Where do I find the words?
I stood outside of the clothing tent for about 7 hours straight monitoring the line of women and children who went into the tent and handing out clothes to the line of men. We arrived in the rain and as the hours passed the rain lessened, which meant that the number of refugees surged. Rain does not mean no refugees, what it does mean is that smugglers lower the price making the trip more accessible for poorer people. Yes, more accessible but much more dangerous.
As expected, more boats came ashore and more buses arrived at the transition point filled with people who are relieved that they’d crossed the 4 mile gap between Asia and Europe. The line in front of me widened. There were times that I was crowded, times that I was pushed and times that I couldn’t fill requests for a dry pair of shoes. It was hard. And if I’m being honest, there were moments of frustration and I could feel my compassion slipping from my grasp as the line shoved forward or when impatient ladies started knocking on the door.
But then I would see faces.
The sweet 2-3 month old baby that was wrapped in metallic heat retaining blanket that I rocked to sleep as her mom changed to dry clothes.
Two sweet sisters who patiently waited at the front of the line for an extended period of time because of the influx of children bordering hypothermia.
The little girl who had vomit in her hair on the top of her head. The rough waters caused many kiddos to be sea sick.
The father from Afghanistan who rejoiced at the success of getting his family of five from Iran to Greece.
A gentle older lady who touched her heart and then touched mine as her eyes welled up with tears. As I gave her a hug she let out a few sobs.
The hands that held in my hand to share my warmth. The blankets that I wrapped on shoulders. The trousers. The socks. The shirts. Everything made a difference to that person.
Looking out from the transition point you can see the shore of Turkey. Four miles is not very far and expanse is frequently dotted with rafts. I found out from a journalist photographer that with a telescopic lens, the smugglers with their “customers” can be seen hiding in the treelines along the shores. It makes my stomach turn to think of what lies beyond the shore in the distance. Yes, when the crowds shove and a need feels to great to meet, the purpose remains. And the compassion returns.
One woman told me that I was an angel but the reality is each one of the volunteers on site are showing them the love of Jesus. I think in this situation, both refugees and volunteers, are finding themselves in a place where the words are lost. Thankfully, for those who know him, that’s where Jesus comes in. He meets me in the place where words are lost and the emotion is real.
