a trip up to zahle...

  smiles and bare feet. dirty hair and mud stains at the bottom of their gowns. the smell of animals and manure as i see a farm in the distance. a bite in the air as i see snow on the mountains that hem this valley in. stepping through the plastic and burlap tents into their homes. their homes. they fled from villages and cities and are now living in tents. 

  some of them describe their new furniture, their flat screens in their homes in syria. and when we ask them what is their most desperate need here: blankets. there are no blankets in this city, and it is cold, really cold. 

   they want food, or formula, or medicine, or firewood, but what is the thing they want most- blankets. for sure. 

   the need washes over me in waves. the intensity of the situation. it is evident that these people are not used to these conditions. simple things are overwhelming them because they are so completly overwhelmed by stress. some of their husbands are here, some in syria. some of their husband have work, some are still searching.

  we are taken into a cement home where there is one room- just a cement room with some carpet on the floor. and a family with 8 children are living in here. it is freezing, and i think to myself, the tents felt warmer. Each women greets me and kisses me on the cheek and i look into their hurting eyes. in some eyes i see the fight. some i see defeat. some i see exhaustion that can not be put into words. 

the inside of one of the tents...

  but the thing that each women begins to talk about...her children. sitting on a carpet, pulling my legs close for warmth, sipping turkish coffee they are talking about head colds, and coats. medical care and school. there are no schools for the sweet kids. a lot of these women are pregnant- and the hospitals in Syria are government run “free”. they have no idea how they will give birth here. My mama heart lurches- cause i get it. nothing is more important that taking care of your babies. 

  As i listen, i let my eyes and ears and heart see. and feel. and hurt for them. I help ease any medical fears i can, i awknowledge their losses, i listen to their pain. I pray for their sick children, and believe in miracles. i tell them again and again that God sees them and loves them. 

  one little boy tells us- that he fled Syria when the bombs hit his home. He is 12 years old and has a little brother and sister with him. He has not seen his mother or father in 4 months. He does not know where they would be or how they would find him. Rosie asks him if he was scared, and he says yes. I know we are just scratching the surface of some of the trauma. 

  I feel struck to the heart with their stories and their pain, but i also just sense how deeply Jesus wants to appear to them. To give them a future and a hope. 

  thankful i could be the hands and feet of the church who were giving money to help these sweet, desperate people. thankful this was not going to be my one time to see them. thankful that i could listen and demonstrate how deeply i cared for them. thankful that we are told again and again that God is close to the needy, the hungry, the broken.