I never thought I'd be a writer. Not really, anyway.
Yet, here I was in my fifth year of professional writing and I was making it. Not only that, I was happy with my job. Every day I wrote about anything my heart desired--weird history, bizarre science, emerging technology. A few of my stories even hit reddit fame. I was getting clicks, which in the writing world these days is everything.
Yet, something was missing.
It was 2016 and the refugee crisis continued. Like much of the world, I'd followed the unrest in the Middle East with sadness and horror. I didn't know the ins-and-outs of the different languages and cultures, but my heart broke for the refugees fleeing their homes. As pictures of drowned refugees washing up on Greek beaches flooded the internet, I wondered with the rest of the world the big questions: What could stop this crisis? What could end the pain?
One day, I saw a Facebook post from a nonprofit based in Nashville. It read:
We're in Athens working with refugees. We need help. Will you help us?
Immediately I knew: I was going.
A few months later, I was on a plane to Athens, and, mid-air, had a crisis. What was I doing? I'd never interacted with people from the Middle East. I wasn't a doctor, a therapist or a translator. I was a writer. What could a writer possibly bring to people in so much pain?
Despite my uncertainties and insecurities, I went. And my life changed.
The first time I met a refugee was as a group entered a Greek church. My nervousness spiked when I saw the veiled women walk into the room, but the moment I looked into the first lady's shy, meek face my heart melted. I was greeted with smiles and kisses. We didn't speak the same language, but we could communicate with grins and hand gestures and tears. I learned quickly that it wasn't teaching English poorly, or watching rambunctious children or even serving the refugees food that mattered most: what mattered was that I was there. That I cared.
For a week, I stayed in Athens, visiting squats (abandoned school buildings and hospitals refugees move into) and spending as much time possible with women and children from Syria, Iraq, Iran, Afghanistan and all over the Middle East. But I knew my life would never be the same was when I sat next to a 13-year-old Afghan girl with polio. Alone in a corner, she smiled at me as I walked over to join her at a table. Immediately, she took my hand and held it. There we sat, unable to talk but communicating volumes. Her love and kindness and utter dependence on the people around her made me want to do something. This sweet girl faced the unknown with such courage and bravery that I couldn't not.
When I arrived back in the States, I immediately contacted Mission to the World, a Christian nonprofit, to see what opportunities might be available to love and care for refugees longer term. For a year, I thought I was going to join a team in Berlin; however, in God's providence, a beautiful role has opened up for me to share the stories of what the Greek Evangelical Church is doing in Athens. In other words, I'll be putting my professional skills to work in a missions context. In the three years I'll be in Greece, I'll have the opportunity to care for refugees, share their stories and help plant a church. It's a role beyond anything I could have ever dreamed.
Want to follow my adventure? Come join me on this journey of discovery, compassion and mutual understanding. One of these stories could reshape your life.