I wish I could. But I can’t.

I wish I could describe the people in the villages we met on the route.  But I can’t.

I wish I could tell you where we were so that you can someday go there.  But I can’t.

I wish I could tell you about the amazing family who adopted us for two nights.  But I REALLY can’t.

Turkey is a dangerous place for a Christian.  Our friend who picked us up in Erzurum told us about the struggles that believers have had in the country’s history.  The most recent story that Google pulls up details the April 2007 murder of three men who worked for a bible publishing house.  In today’s American culture, the idea that people in the Western world are killed for their faith seems antiquated.  But it happens.  We’re in one of those countries.  Turkey is 99% Muslim.  There isn’t much provision or allowance for Christians in this culture, unless, of course, you are a wealthy tourist.  In that case, profess away, as long as you’re paying too much for that kebab.

While Sofia was outside Istanbul, we were at risk.  We didn’t know it at the time.  We were blissfully clueless, playing worship music in the city center, within the old walls.  If you had told us that Diyarbakir was the most dangerous city in Turkey, we probably wouldn’t have gone.  If you had told us that someone might have pulled a knife on us for professing our faith, we almost definitely wouldn’t have gone.  But we went, and not only were we blessed, we were safe.  Apparently, it’s expected for tourists to get pickpocketed in Diyarbakir.  None of us lost anything.  You might call it luck.  I call it heavenly protection.

All this to say that the reason I haven’t written anything about our trip across Turkey is that I can’t.  Pure and simple.  I wish I could.  I really do.  But the nature of the areas outside Istanbul (and the monitoring of internet and other such things) means that I can’t.  At least not here.

Emails, however, are an entirely different story.  If you’re curious, you know how to find me.