This one hits close to home and honestly in a raw part of my heart. Before leaving for the World Race in August 2018, I started keeping up on global news. In so doing I started to gain understanding of the war in Syria and what exactly is happening. I remember almost being shocked that the war had gone on for over 7 years now and embarrassed I truly had not known. I read an article about hospitals being targeted and another about the refugee crisis in the millions as far as displaced people. I read a story about one Syrian man literally writing his name and blood type on his arm in marker when he left his house just in case, and my heart dropped. But during our time in both Lebanon and Jordan I got to meet, be hosted, and hear the stories of many Syrian families who fled and are now living as refugees. I cannot give you a complete summary of what is happening in Syria, nor can I explain the politics and groups fighting, but I can share the stories of the people I met and trust the Lord to use it however He will.
-My friend and I walked into a really cute shop and work space of one of the non-profit organizations we partnered with in the area. We were warmly greeted by a kind woman at the front desk. In chatting, we learned her name and asked how long she had been in Lebanon. She told us she was from Syria and had only been there a couple years. When we asked about her family she said they were all gone. She was from Aleppo in Syria and it was clear none of them made it out. We sat in the moment and then she smiled, she told us in broken English that she had met many kind people in Lebanon and that now the workers at this Christian non-profit were much like family to her.
-We went with a local pastor from the church we partnered with up some tiny concrete stairs. We were kindly greeted, took off our shoes, and entered into the living area. It was cold outside and everyone had blankets and long sleeves. As our pastor spoke with the family we learned that the father was currently in a great deal of pain due to what had been diagnosed as kidney stones. The eldest daughter’s husband was executed in Syria. Their eldest son had died and the next born son now carried his name. I noticed the mother had scarring on her hands, barely exposed beyond her long black sleeves. The daughter and I shared a sweet moment as I complimented her nail polish, she thought I was pointing at this slight blue tint on her hands and reached up and pulled one blue lock of hair down from under her hijab to show me the recent coloring. We laughed and smiled and complimented her and she tucked it away again.
-The mother kindly greeted us at the gate. She had 6 tiny kiddos running around her legs and smiling wildly at us. As we sat on the floor cushions and she spoke with our pastor friend, we played with her little ones. Language is not a barrier with kids and hers were so excited to meet and play with us. Her husband was not home and soon a neighbor woman joined with her own children. Her husband had just gone back to Syria and silence hung in the room because of the weight of unknown she carried. The first woman had a sweet little baby as well who was sick and sniffly and so completely precious. All the kids wore sweaters and layers to keep warm in the concrete home. The mother seemed tired and overwhelmed by the attention her kids sought after.
-We were greeted so kindly by an older woman at the door of her little apartment. She had had a throat surgery that left her with a hole in her throat that she pushed on with a little mesh bandage to speak. She was so full of life! Her daughter came into the room and so gently served us coffee. The daughter’s husband had left her. The mother had a son who lived with them, but most of her children were still back in Syria.
-We pulled up to a small one story cinder block building. It had tarps to cover the windows and rested in an open area. A young mother greeted us. She had two little boys and was expecting. She teased about hoping it would be a little girl. Her little boys sat close to the gas heater that she turned up when we walked in. The home was cozy and neat, just a small sitting table and cushions around it. We spoke with the mother and soon one of her neighbors joined us. My friend Allison shared a piece of her story and basically the whole gospel in so doing. While the first woman did not react that much, her neighbor lit up and explained how she had heard about Jesus through a movie playing at the hospital. One of her family members needed treatment, and while she waited she said the video caught her attention and she basically memorized it. She began retelling the stories of Christ’s ministry. Before we left, she expressed need to the pastor that went with us. She wanted to receive food and care from the church as well. He ended up visiting her the next day.
-We pulled up to another home in that same one story cinder block area. We were with a different friend and volunteer from the church. We were kindly greeted by the father of the family who helped us carry in the food package. The mother warmly greeted us and we were invited to sit. They had three little boys and one was just a baby. Their sons were healthy and happy and bounced around the room in contained chaos and were very receptive to small “no’s” or directions from their mom or dad. The wife was so full of life and expression. She was 21 and her oldest son was 5 years old. She had many brothers and sisters back in Syria. Her husband was a garbage sweeper on the streets. *Note: it is very difficult for Syrian refugees to get jobs in Jordan.
-We climbed up the stairs to their tiny apartment. We were kindly greeted by this older woman who was sharp as a tack. She hosted us so well and we sat with her husband on the cushions in their room. It was cold and both were bundled in many layers and blankets. I’m not sure how it came about, but before we knew it she was preparing lunch for us and our Egyptian friend P. She treated P much like a son and the atmosphere was very comfortable. My friend and I tried to help, but his expert mother soon gently assumed a teacher role and called us to follow her and watch her cooking process. We watched and observed as she would show us how to cook the potatoes, when the barley was done, and how to chop the vegetables for the salad. When the meal was all prepared, we gathered around the tiny plastic tablecloth on the floor and the husband kept filling our plates to make sure we had enough food. My heart truly broke. This couple had 7 children, 3 were still back in Syria and 4 were spread all around the world. The woman was a grandmother to many little ones and the family tried to stay in touch as best they could, but you could see the separation had worn on this couple. The food they offered was almost hard to receive, because I knew they didn’t have anything, but it was a great honor to be a recipient of the love and care this mother would show to her family if they were there. The husband used to be a taxi driver in Syria, she used to have a kitchen with hanging utensils, and now they were waiting as they had been for 2 years to see if they would be relocated as refugees to New Zealand or England.
-We pulled up and were greeted at the gate by a woman leaning on a heavy cane. She invited us into her sunlit home. The walls were covered with decorations and pictures of Mecca. *Note: most homes do not have pictures or wall art except the occasional passage of the Quran. She was very bright-eyed and engaged in our conversation. She had been in some kind of automotive accident which left her walking with a limp and the cane. Her husband had some hearing issues and she ran most of the conversation. She is a mom of 8 children, 4 boys and 4 girls, not to mention a grandma to 7 grandkids. She was married when she was only 14 years old.
-We carried our food package up many flights and were warmly invited into the living space of a tiny apartment. In the hallway covered in pillows we met a grandmother and grandfather and 4 of their grandkids. The mother and wife of their son was in the kitchen tending to their newborn baby and the husband was working. The grandmother was very kind and hosted us with great warmth. The grandchildren sat quietly around her and very near to both her and the grandfather. They told us about their lives in Syria. They had a nice home, 2 cars, and money to live before the war. Now they were refugees waiting to go home, but knowing it would not be the home they left when they fled. I had noticed that the woman’s hands were covered in scarring. Before long she showed us how her hands were permanently trapped in a closed position and greatly injured. The husband rolled up his shirt and showed us these massive scars where large chunks of skin must have been removed. Though much was lost in translation they spoke clearly of the bombs and family members lost. They talked about a relative who was captured and tortured. One powerful moment, was when we asked how the couple had met. This couple bore such a beautiful story, because the husband honored his wife and said she was his friend and best support through what they had been through.
-The woman met us on the street with two little ones closely in toe. As she welcomed us in and we sat down another woman with a baby came in and then a man. We learned they were both his wives. One was older and had had more of the children that surrounded and played with us and the other was younger with a son and a baby in her arms. One of the boys, the eldest, was going to the Syrian school run by the church we were partnering with. The other kids kept their distance at first, but by the time we left were all over us in sweet play and gently pulling for our attention. The man spoke of difficulty in finding work in Jordan. When asked about Syria and their time there before, everyone just got very quiet. There was clearly heaviness in that history.
-In a house nearby, we were warmly welcomed into a small hallway with no windows. The woman who had met us was joined by another older woman. Both were wearing traditional clothing and covered from head to toe in black fabrics except for their face and hands. We learned the older woman was actually the younger one’s mother-in-law. The younger one who had met us had been divorced and left by her husband who married a non-Muslim woman who would not allow her to stay. The mother-in-law carried deeply for the younger woman even though her son had left her. Both women were from the same town in Syria and had been hit hard with loss. The mother-in-law’s children are spread all over the world, in Turkey, Lebanon, Jordan, and even the US. Apparently, on of her son’s and his son were killed in Syria and no one knew if her daughter was alive or dead. The younger woman had a son who was a bus driver in Syria who had been shot in the head while driving and a sister who is currently suffering from cancer. On top of that, she blamed herself for her daughter’s early marriage and current struggle with finances. Her hands were full of pain because she works very hard to strip this one plant of its leaves. It’s very tedious and hard work and for 100 kilos of the plant leaves she will maybe earn 5 JD. She takes pain medication for her hands but finds that it pains her stomach. Both women were in many ways rejected due to shaky family relations and did not have a home of permanent residency.
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These are some of the stories of the Syrian families we met. With exception to the first story, all of the Syrians we were blessed with the opportunity to meet and be greeted into their homes are Muslim. It goes without saying for each family memories of Syria are hard and painful. No one chooses to be a refugee in a foreign land. Many of them had homes, wealth, and normal routines before the war. Now they are stuck in a waiting period, hoping to return to their homeland. This waiting is so hard, their children are growing or being born with no idea what Syria is like and families are pining for what once was. The reality is they are living as refugees in a country where they are economically and social viewed as second class, and even if they return their homes and country will never be the same. The further reality is the war is still going and no one knows when it will end.
BUT JESUS….
I do not want to leave you with the brokenness of the situation. These are the stories we heard, but there is so much more that we were able to share and there is an immense amount of hope exploding in this region. I am writing another blog about what we saw Jesus do and how we were able to speak into these pains and stories during our time in the Middle East. But first I wanted to share a brief and uncut picture of the very real pain we felt, heard, and shared with our Syrian brothers and sisters as they simply spoke their stories.
Please join me in praying for Syria! Please pray for the church that we partnered with who has been serving the refugee families with food packages and very present help in the name of Jesus. Please pray for the long term workers who are giving their time, lives, and hearts to loving these families for the sake of the gospel. Please pray for my heart as it will never be the same. This is the closest I have come to war and its lasting rippling effects in my lifetime, and I felt like after meeting with each family I carried a heavy heart to the Lord saturated with another’s pain. Each time He gently took it from me and told me He paid for it on the cross. Someday the world would never be heavy with the effects of sin. He filled it with His love and victory and sent us to the next home.
Blessings
Bre—————-Part 2 Coming Soon!!————————-
