On her last night in Greece, Kelly Anne Broderick of 2015 Y Squad reflects on all experienced in her 5 weeks serving on the front lines of the Refugee Crisis.
We left the way we came. It was fitting.
Around 10:45 PM it started to sprinkle, which turned into a pretty heavy downpour. I’d just brought all of the boxes of clothes in from outside of the gate and was sorting baby clothes on our newly-installed shelves.
Stopping, I sat and listened to the rain hit the tin roof above, once again listening to Jesus romancing my soul. He knew what I needed to close out my time with the refugees. He knew exactly how He was going to bring the five weeks there to an end.
In those moments, God reminded me how He knew I was going Greece, even before I knew it. He knew I was going to be in the container that night and He was going to bring the rain once again. Only this time, the rain came as a renewal, instead of leaving me feeling completely helpless.
Looking back over my time at the transition site, the experiences cross through my senses:
I see a sea of faces of refugees, extremely joyful but still with a clear of sense loss and fear. I see lines of refugees pointing to their wet pants and pleading for dry clothes as I tell them we don’t have any more. I see thousands of abandoned life jackets lining the beaches and hundreds of punctured rubber rafts alongside forsaken wooden boats. I also see hundreds of gray mounds of blankets on the ground, covering sleeping people trying to stay as warm as possible. I see Jesus winking at me through the shooting star that Cassidy and I saw as we stargazed on the freezing cold container roof.
I hear the surge of a mob pounding against the container and shaking the gate, expressing their urgency to get in. I hear the voices yelling for me to do something in languages I don’t understand. I hear the sound of children and infants crying and screaming from the line, and I hear children laughing when someone blows bubbles for them. I hear the laughter and smiles over finding yet another ridiculous sweater or nonsensical outfit one of my fellow volunteers tries on. I hear the cheers and raised voices of competition in the volleyball game that I joined, making my arms feel like jello afterwards because we played with a soccer ball.
I smell the port-o-potties and the distinctly pungent odor signifying they were being cleaned. I smell the body odor that followed refugees who had not had access to a shower for days. I smell mountains of clothes, some freshly laundered and some stale from being at the bottom of a pile for weeks, that I scoured through in order to find order amongst the chaos of clothing.
I taste the fresh tea or hot chocolate coming from the kitchen, representing the warmth it would bring to the refugees in the big tents and the surrounding grounds. I taste the dinners that Shirletha made me every night when I neglected to feed myself, which always brought the rejuvenation I didn’t know I needed. I taste the freedom the refugees now experience as their feet hit European soil, but also the pain of the journey they have endured.
I remember the hugs from grateful families and the kisses from children who had no idea the journey ahead of them. Their relentless kisses started at my dimples and filled my entire face with warmth, reminding me of the beautiful innocence and genuine love as I spun them around and held them tightly in my arms. Regardless of whether they would see me ever again, in that specific moment they loved and laughed with me with all they had.
They touched a place in my heart that very few have reached.
But mostly I feel all of it. I feel their urgency to want to move on to safety. I feel the weight of the situation and the literal weight of the children and bags they carry away from a home they still loved. I feel the pain of loss that hung around the harbor and the coastline from boats that did not make it and people who were never found. I feel the restlessness of the children who just wanted someone to play with or a new place to go explore.
When I think about my last night, about leaving behind the past five weeks of my life and everything I experienced here, I feel incredibly and infinitely small.
It feels good to feel small. It is good to be reminded the world is so much bigger than what our minds are capable of comprehending. But at the same time, it is a reminder of how we were given a small and specific role to play in this vast world. Working with the refugees has taught me that while what I do may be small, its impact is not.
On that final night in Greece, I planned on sorting through clothes and attempting to bring more structure to the Peace Container. I lasted a couple of hours before the Lord told me to put down the clothes and go love on some people inside the site. I played volleyball, danced, and laughed with volunteers and refugees. I had a Race-altering conversation with Bethany, an alumni racer, who prayed over me and shared her wisdom and hard truths she had learned from her Race.
She told me that happiness was a choice, and you could always find an excuse to not be happy. At the same time, you could always find excuses to be happy. Each ministry I encounter, any team I am to be a part of, and every travel day I endure will be dictated by my choice of how I view it.
So on my last night, Jesus brought me redemption through the rain. He brought me closure on one of the most influential seasons of my life, but also an opening to a future He has planned for me to walk through with Him.
There I sat in my Peace Container one last time, with my eyes closed on top of a mountain of children’s clothes boxes and bags, getting lost in the sound of the rain. I reminisced about all I have done and looked forward to all that was before me.
Lesvos became a home, but the Lord reminded me it was only temporary.
I’m ready for whatever’s next.
Are you interested in more information on going to Greece for 3 weeks in January to help refugees? Click HERE.
Are you a college student and feel called to share hope and the love of Jesus in nations affected by the Refugee Crisis? If so, check out the summer Passport trip to Albania HERE.
