We’ve just left Sarajevo, the capital of Bosnia-Herzegovina.
What a town.
Old with the new. Beauty with despair.
My heart breaks for this place with the friendliest of people.
I can’t stop thinking of the siege.
July 11, 1995 is when the city was taken over. When the men left for the mountains. When families fell apart. When mothers and children sought refuge and found none. The cruelty. The hopelessness. The genocide.
Part of what we felt was important as a team was to understand this city. We visited an exhibition that told the stories of this place.
May 12, 1995 is when my sister was born. Short one day of two months, my sister could have been one of the babies burned in the ovens. My father could have died seeking refuge in the mountains. My mother and I could have been turned away from the refugee camp on neutral ground.
I can’t get over that it could have been me.
It could have been my family’s story.
Each person that I’ve met, I couldn’t help but think that they’d lived through that. That their family is still scattered. Dry bones.That their bodies are scattered along mass graves.
It didn’t just feel like a history lesson.
It’s so real. So chilling. And I’ve been at a loss of words.
How were we supposed to offer these people hope?
So much of the war was from “religious conflict.”
Sarajevo is known as the European Jerusalem. With Mosques, Cathedrals, Churches and Temples all beside one another. It’s in-between the east and the west, residing in the Balkans (which means blood and honey). It’s always been the land for the taking.
The beauty and splendor.
The death that seems to hang in the air.
Yet, the Bosniaks call one another “brother.” They’ve lived intermingled with different religions for hundreds of years– through the different empires–they’ve always had to rely on one another.
They’ve lived and fought shoulder to shoulder with one another– what could I say or do that would change their minds?
We’ve been doing the only thing we know how to do: pray.
We’ve been praying for healing. Healing over these people. Healing over this land. Waiting for conversations to share our stories. To share our hearts.
I’ve only been there a week and I’m desperate for this place. Desperate for the Lord to wipe it clean.
There’s so much hurting. I can’t wait for the change to come.
