Savior of all People

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She shakes her head, and points to her son. "He likes to fight. It's not good. I try to tell him not to, but he is always fighting." Her young eyes look pained. Her husband died two years ago, and the only reason she has left to live is for her eleven year old son. And here in camp, he is always causing her grief.

The six year old is sobbing and shaking. Her mother has just beaten her, and she is scared and upset. We hold her, and try to comfort her. She doesn't want to go back to her house, but we need to take her. The mother takes her from our arms, laughing.

He comes running behind me, and kicks me in the shins. I turn around for a hug, but he withdraws, and grins mischievously. Everyone, including his mother, calls him Crazy, and it is easy to see why. When the other children high-five and hug as a greeting, he throws punches and kicks violently. But he has seen way more than a six year old should have to see. He has seen blood, war, bodies. He has experienced a traumatic boat ride, he has hid from whistling bullets, he lost his father, and he has lived in a camp with 2500 other people for four months.

Everywhere I look, I see pain. I see sad eyes. I see tears. I see chaos and imprisonment and binding powers. I feel oppression and depression and darkness.

But God is a God of miracles. He is the Healer of broken hearts. He can restore. He knows what pain is, and he brings peace. He provides a future -- He is the future. He is a Redeemer. I choose to believe in my God, because I know He is a miracle-worker.

One Reason

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I watched him sitting against the concrete wall. Wearing his usual faded hat, stretched t-shirt, and green shorts, he stared past my face, with a distant look in his eyes. I studied his young face, and wondered who he would be if he were still in Syria. He mumbled something, and I asked, "What did you say?" He came back to the present, to the refugee camp, to his hopeless life, to his monotonous day. "It would just have been better if we would all have died in Syria," he said, a little louder this time.

My heart jumped when I realized what he said, and that he meant it. I didn't know what to say, but he wasn't expecting a reply. I heard his younger brother coming around the corner, yelling my name. I smiled and hugged him, then took his even younger brother in my arms. The 4 year old snuggled in my arms and giggled as I held him.

Yes, you are here for a reason. God created you, and when He did, He had a specific purpose for doing so. He created you to live, not die. Not to die in Syria, not to die in the Aegean Sea, not to die in eternity. You were created to live.

Yes, Moria seems like hell. Yes, it seems hopeless. When looking for freedom, this is the last place you want, next to the place you came from.

But if you would have died in Syria, you would never have seen God. You would never have seen the love of God on display. You would not have seen people of God, serving, giving, loving like Jesus taught.

This is a big enough reason to be here in this horrible, awful prison. So you can find freedom in your heart. Peace and freedom that comes only from Jesus, the Messiah, in your heart.