The Eyes.

It's the eyes that get me. They house the emotions that people can't speak of or won't speak of. They hide the stories and the pain and the life that was lived up to the point that you see them. It was in the eyes today for me.

An Afghani man who just wants opportunity and safety for his children. An Afghani woman fanning her baby due to the overwhelmingly still and oppressive heat and willingly, kindly speaking to an American who can't even pretend to know her language and yet she still pulls out every English word she's ever picked up along the way. A Syrian man who knows more languages than he has fingers on his hand. All of their eyes tell a small piece of their stories. Behind the smiles and the excitement of meeting new American friends, with whom they are truly and genuinely excited to meet, their eyes give their true feelings away. Tired. Defeated. Full of regret. Each of these new friends are just a small number represented in camp.

Today we went to Moria and I, for one, have been struggling to capture just exactly how I'm feeling. It's somewhere between the extreme ends of sadness, justice, and joy, but overall it's a complex blend of all the emotions a human could feel. It's no doubt that our April team has been changed forever and I know that will be just as true for those of us who are here now...God is doing some crazy things.

We aren't allowed to take pictures inside the camp at all so I'll do what I can in this and subsequent posts to explain a little bit more in depth what we do if I don't have correlating photos.

Besides playing with kids, laughing, and sweating - oh so much sweating - we talked with people. Hardly knowing any of the many languages represented in camp, you learn a lot about patience and nonverbal cues. Of course there are a good handful of people who do know English and can converse clearly, but for a large part of the time you just sit and you just listen and you just smile and be present. I had the opportunity to chat with some of the women in the unit I was assigned, which houses primarily Afghanis. It was awkward at first. I had no idea what I was supposed to do and if there might be a plan that I should stick to more closely than I was but once the Lord brought me through all of that, He made it very clear that I needed to just be there and present with people. So I talked with the women and some of the children. I learned new names and faces and how many kids each woman had and, of course, got to play with many of their children around the unit. I had a blast, but I also saw or, maybe just felt, the pain that threatened to crack the exteriors of their kind and absolutely generous smiles.

These women are truly some of the bravest people I have been privileged to know, no matter how short it will end up being in the grand scheme of life. To make the choice, or at the very least, to obey the choice to move from the place you call home due to circumstances you did not cause and into a future riddled with unknowns is incredibly heartbreaking and unbelievably brave. I am beyond thankful that God saw it fit for me to be on this island at this particular time with these special people hearing and seeing stories from around the world. It's humbling, to almost a state of paralyzation, to be called by the Lord to serve Him in this way, but I fully intend to do my best and when I can do nothing more, to allow Him to pour in His Holy Spirit to help with it all.

I am wrecked for good. I will see people's stories forever through their eyes. And it's only day two....


- Liz
June Greece Team