At first they are specks. Tiny specks of black and white where the water meets the sky. It’s easy to miss them with an untrained eye. After a while I can see orange; a mass of florescence headed our way. Time speeds up at this point. It isn’t long before the speck becomes a raft, and the mass of orange separates into dozens of life vests.
This is when it becomes real. I can see their faces. I can hear their shouts. They’re only a few yards away now. When the boat finally shores, emotions run high. Grown men begin sobbing, babies wail because of the commotion. I lift a couple of children to safety, then hold out my hand for a woman to steady herself. She looks at me with tears in her eyes and I smile, trying to welcome her warmly despite how much I want to cry myself. As her fear melts away, she expresses her gratitude with what little English she knows. “Thank You!” “Thank you!” she says again, and I realize that she is the person I’ve been watching for the last hour. She is the face I’ve been waiting to meet. They all are. That speck which first appeared upon the horizon was men, women and children, none of whom I had met before. All of whom were terrified they would never get to experience this moment.
It’s easy to imagine. It’s a whole other thing to be in it. After people have overcome their sea legs and found their belongings, we begin directing them up the cliffs to the Light House. There, we offer food and water. We gather the kids by the fire and wrap those who are wet in emergency foil blankets. Once everyone has calmed down, phone calls are made to loved ones back home, and families get together for their first photo in Europe. Through broken communication, we try to learn their stories. We hear tales about their journeys and the dreams they have for their futures. The traumatized girl in the corner who’s stare was distant has finally started smiling as she watches our game of Charades. My teammate and I are able to pray over a group of women before they depart.
Soon they are on their way. Just as quickly as they came, they are gone; their travels continue. Many of them turn and wave good-bye as they begin their 3-mile walk up hill to the nearest bus station. I watch as they become specks again. Then I direct my attention to the water and prepare for another round.
This was my experience at the Light House. The Lighthouse sits above one of the many shores boats land on here in Lesvos. Every day, thousands of refugees come to Greece to escape the terrors of the Middle East. I may only get to meet a handful of them, but when I close my eyes I can see their faces. Their stories replay in my mind as I fall asleep at night. I wish there was more I could do. They have a long road ahead of them, but I feel so blessed to have experienced a tiny part of their journey with them. Today I wanted to share that part with you.
