Before I start this though, I have a quick praise report. Last time you heard from me I was under $13k, and worried about meeting my fundraising goal. If I’m being honest, there may have been a few minutes there when I thought I might not be able to stay on the race. But God wasn’t done yet. In the words of Annalea, “I prayed, ‘I know You will provide the funds. I just pray that You release those funds in a miraculous way that points all back to You.’” Guys. That’s exactly what happened. God provided funds that surpassed my goal by over $2,000(!!!) and exceeded all prayers and expectations I had. And along with that, I absolutely positively cannot thank every one of you who have supported me enough. God called me here, but y’all have actually made it so I could be here, soaking up and spreading the Lord’s glory in Lesvos, Greece.
This island is full of beauty. Starting at the shore, the deep, clear, blue water gives way to stark white columns and red clay roofs. Climbing further into the island, towns of red and white fall away, and are replaced with groves of olive trees and green rolling hills. But nestled on the side of one hill, is a sprawling, ugly compound of concrete and razor wire. A scar on the otherwise gorgeous landscape, this former prison, turned refugee camp, is to be our ministry for the next month.
From the two weeks that I’ve spent here, it has struck me that the contrasts don’t end there. Stories told back home can sometimes paint refugees as something close to leeches, seeking entry to another country only to feed off their resources and sometimes even to cause harm to that country. This perception couldn’t be further from the truth. Every person I’ve met has been a warrior. Leaving behind family, friends, everything they’ve ever known. Enduring sleepless nights, days without food, and even the risk of injury and death. Why? Because this place that they’ve lived for their entire life has fallen into such disarray that it isn’t even safe enough for them to call it home any more.
Even within this group of warriors, there’s contrast. During my time here I’ve carried just-born babies from Syria, and I’ve conversed with 60 year old men from Jamaica. I’ve spent shifts just sitting for nine hours watching a level gate, chatting with residents and listening to podcasts, and I’ve spent shifts constantly pushing patients in wheelchairs up and down the steep hill that leads to the emergency medics. We’ve given out tents to grateful families who had no home before this, and we’ve given out tents to hotheaded teens who broke theirs during a fight that they started. The only constant I’ve found at camp, is contrast.
That being said, I wouldn’t have it any other way. Boarding the bus to camp every day means a chance to hear a new story or to make a new friend. A new chance to help in some small way. To serve these people on their journey to find a new home.
