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.

War Zone

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He used to be strong. Everyday, he built houses. Frame upon frame, wall after wall, laying upon a foundation. He would go home, kiss his wife, and eat the supper she provided. He never liked to sit around much, so he would stay busy outside until the light would leave.

And now? Now he lies in his tent, watching movies. He collects bottle caps, and makes a game of checkers. The furthest he's walked today -- in the last month, really -- was to get his meal of peas and carrots and soup. He would sleep, but he knows from experience that one can only sleep so much in a day. He wishes he could close his eyes and forget everything he's seen and heard in his lifetime. He would even be willing to lose the memory of the good, if it meant not seeing the bad anymore.

She sits quietly outside her house. Her eyes follow the movements of the baby who lives next door, but her mind is back in Afghanistan. Where she used to be the life of the party. She had friends all around her, and a few of them were true friends -- the kind she shared everything with.

And now? She is lonely, and says she has no friends. She hates a few people, but she has no one to love. When you ask her, she says she has four friends -- but she hasn't seen any of them since they left her to go back to America.

You can feel the hopelessness. The hurt. Look in their eyes, and tell me you can't see it. Tell me you can't feel it in your own heart. We desperately need a Healer to heal our hearts.

the Healer

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I heard about a Healer. They say He can do anything. He travels the country, teaching the people, and healing. I have only been waiting till He comes to my area.
I have had this terrible disease for the past 12 years. I bleed, all the time. I have to be so careful not to break open my skin, or I will bleed for a few hours. It has been extremely hard living like this. No doctor has been able to do anything for me. I have spent so much time and money trying to heal myself, but nothing has helped.
Yesterday, I was on my way home from outside of town. I had to get water, and they no longer allow me to draw water from the city well, because I am always unclean.
As I was crossing the main street, just down from the temple, I noticed this huge crowd of people in front of me. Curious, I followed them. Their attention appeared to all be focused on something close to the front, though I couldn't see what it was.
I tried pushing my way front. As I moved along, the word I heard most frequently was "Jesus." I immediately recognized the name as the Great Healer.
I got this crazy idea in my head that if I could only see the Healer, or maybe talk to Him, He could help me. Maybe even help me.
I pushed through the crowd, with a new determination. After a struggle, I saw the man who apparently was Jesus. He looked to be an ordinary man. Because I came from behind, I could not see his face.
I realized soon, however, that there was going to be no way to talk to Him.
But I know He can heal me, my heart screamed. He can do all things. Maybe it would be enough if I would just touch Him.
And without letting my mind talk me out of such a radical idea, I reached out and touched the hem of his coat. It was only a small movement, and I was convinced no one noticed.
Immediately though, I felt different. I felt renewed strength, like I hadn't in years. My body somehow felt healthy again. In that instant, I knew I was healed by the true Healer.
In my heart, I felt true joy and peace like never before. I wanted to laugh and smile, because life suddenly looked beautiful.
My joy was short-lived, however.
The Healer stopped, mid-step. He turned around, and said, gently, "Who touched me?"
I froze.
His friends looked at Him as if He were crazy and said, "What do you mean? A lot of people are touching you in this crowd."
But He replied, "No, someone touched me. I felt power leaving me." And as He said it, He looked directly at me.
I wanted to disappear. I knew I was caught. I came to Him then, and fell to my knees. I was crying, not sure how to feel. Then I felt his touch on my shoulder. It still felt the same, powerful and something else I wasn't sure of. He asked me why I did it, and he made me explain it to the crowd.
Then, He said the words I will never forget. He spoke the words as though He were my Father. I felt love, acceptance, and peace, all at one time. "Daughter, your faith has healed you. Go in peace."
And now, I believe. I believe in power, and love. And I think that somehow, this Healer, Jesus, is more than just a Healer and a Teacher.
inspired by my Bible reading from Luke 8

Where is Your Victory?

Death is such a finality. Death is the end. We cry, because we want to hold on to something we cannot. We don't like goodbyes. We hate endings.
Life is a beautiful thing. There are heartaches, and there are struggles, but there is hope, and there are opportunities. In life we have second chances. Life is all about loving and forgiving. It is about learning and feeling.
Death is opposite. It is no feeling, and no loving. In death, we have no opportunities. In every sense of the word, it is the complete opposite of life.
And yet, in a way, death is only another stage in life. Death opens a door that leads to so much more life.
In Christ, death is only another step in the journey of life. Death is a beginning of deeper love, fuller joy, and more feelings.
Three weeks ago, I witnessed a beautiful death. The dying process was far from being easy or fun. But the death was beautiful in that he wanted so badly to leave this cruel earth. He couldn't wait to meet his Creator. He was so content to die. And as much as my mind tells me it is impossible, my heart tells me that death can be a joyful time.

brokenness.

I told someone to have a nice day. With sorrow in her voice, she replied quietly, "it's hard being broken when you're alone."
Her words connected with my heart. They rang in my ears. I wanted to remember those words. They were said with such feeling. She felt the pain, and it still seemed so raw.
She used to be happy. She used to be a strong woman. But grief can do so much to a soul.
The words were haunting. I wanted to remember, because they were so real. I quickly wrote the phrase on my arm, as a reminder for the day.
I should have offered hope. Hope in Jesus Christ. Life can be hard. Life does seem broken. But Jesus is a healer of scars. He is a life-giver. And He created each of us to enjoy life and to share real life with those around us.