It's been a long week for me, but also a good one. This week most of the staff at helping hands is busy at family camp, a sort of summer camp experience for believing or partially believing refugee families. It's a multi-organization event, and it's much more focused and intensive than normal. Kayla, our guide intern who was here last year, left for camp Tuesday, but there wasn't room or work for all of us, so the rest of us interns stayed in Athens and have been working for a different refugee support organization called Faros instead.
Here's the background info on Faros. It' was started a couple of years ago by a couple of people from Denmark to help unaccompanied minors in Greece. There are a lot of kids, almost all boys, under the age of 16 living in Greece alone without parents or guardians. Some of them have lost their families to war, while others have families still living in the Middle East who sent their oldest boy east, in the hope that he would be able to find a better future in Europe and perhaps help his family gain admittance later on. A lot of these boys congregate in groups in Victoria park, and Faros owns a building a few blocks away where they offer kids a safe place to stay and play during the day. They also offer a variety of services to help kids figure out what to do next, where to find services or seek asylum, how to reunite with families they may have been separated from, and what steps they can take to build a brighter future for themselves. It's a really cool ministry that reaches out to a very vulnerable demographic.
It also has almost nothing to do with what we the interns have been doing.
Instead, the four of us are working with Faros' brand new hope center facility. Their hope center works with families, particularly women and children, and they just (mostly) completed work next door on a shower facility where they can offer showers and serve tea and cookies while the women wait their turn. It's like women's shower day at helping hands, except newer, and it happens every day instead of once a week. That is where our group has been helping out all week.
This is actually the first week of showers for the hope center too. The facility is brand new, and they only opened last Friday. Monday was a greek national holiday, so on Tuesday when we came to work, we got to jump into the group's second full day of figuring out how this is all going to work. It's really cool to get to be a part of starting this ministry off, especially since we've seen how showers work at helping hands, and what a great environment can be produced. It can also be a little stressful figuring out what we can offer and what we can't, but I certainly enjoy the fresh perspective of a new ministry and a different group of people.
There are usually at least 3 Faros people working at any given time. We have exactly one guy who speaks Farsi, Arash, and he sits at the door and greets people. He takes the name of each woman who comes and the number of kids she has who are showering with her, and then he gives her a number. First come, first served. Another Faros lady sits near the front with him at the information desk. She is available to help refugees find other services and organizations that they need, and she can explain the process of petitioning for asylum. The third lady is in charge of the kids. There is also someone different in charge every day, but so far the supervisors often drift back to the building around the corner during the day, so we are mostly on our own. We also had two other volunteers our first two days, but then they had to move on to their next destination.
Two volunteers will be in charge of the showers, one or two run the tea and cookie department, and everybody else hangs out with the kids and/or chats with the ladies that come. I have drifted into a role as snack lady/child are assistant.
I really like having the clearly defined refreshments job. Every time someone new comes in, I make sure that there is a plate of cookies on their table, and I swing by to ask if they want some tea or water, "chai" or "ab." Then, I come through periodically and check if anyone want a refill. I say the word "chai" a lot of times over the course of the day, nod have a lot of conversations that are made up of one or two words repeated with excessive gesturing until the other person understands. Someone does want tea. Someone else doesn't want tea, but would like more cookies. Someone would like sugar to put in their tea. Someone wishes I would stop offering them tea already because they are fasting for Ramadan. Whoops. Got it.
It is pretty basic, but it feels pretty helpful. I know what I have to offer, and I give it. I smile a lot. I don't do a ton of chatting, or hear a lot of women's stories beginning to end, but I serve a lot of warm drinks, and I do my best to make them feel welcome. These women have On my way! A long way, and a lot of them work hard to take care of their families in very difficult circumstances, with very few resources. But when they walk into our center, for a couple of hours I get to serve them. It makes me happy, and I hope it gives them a chance to rest.
The other role that I've drifted into at Faros is helping with the kids. In particular, I feel like I've gotten a reputation if only in my own head as a wrangler for overly energetic boys. There is one family who has come I every day so far, a woman with five kids, one older teenage girl, one younger teenage girl, and three rambunctious boys ranging from maybe 12 down to 3 years old. They are sweet, but boy are they a handful. I couldn't enjoy playing with them more. Yesterday they hung around until the end, and once everything wound down, and almost no one was left in the center, I started chasing them. Tearing after all three boys all around the room, catching each one to tickle him, and then releasing him to go after another one. I even managed to pull another little boy into it too. He was just standing and watching our antics, until I started poking his belly every time I ran by. After a couple of times of that, he was running too, but with a great big grin plastered all over his face.
Working at Faros is a lot less structured, or organized, than helping hands, but that also means that it's a lot more flexible, and that I get to create structure and organization as I see fit. I get to come up with simple and active games that will keep these boys' attention, and figure out how often to put out cookies and play around with where to put my supplies in the cabinet. It's fun.
The roles that I've taken on myself are not big and they aren't flashy. I don't think for a minute that I'm irreplaceable, or that I'm changing the entire course of anybody's life, but I hope that I'm contributing a little bit of joy to everyone I meet. I came to Greece so that God could use me. I don't think that He's been speaking through my voice or through my words very much this week, because I haven't used the very much, but I hope and believe that He is working through my smile. That He is working through my patience with a dozen requests even as he teaches me to be patient. That He is working through my hands as I pour drinks and arrange cookies, and through my fingers as I tickle kids or toss an inflatable beach ball back and forth with a girl who looked left out. To me my actions seems so small, but I am trying to trust God that He is mighty and merciful and that He is big enough to work through my insignificant actions. Some days that is easier to remember than others, and some days I also need to trust God enough to push past my discomfort and go ahead and have some long possibly awkward conversations, but first and for most I need to put my actions into His hands.
Ps. Faros' website can be found at http://www.faros.org.gr if you are interested. It doesn't have a ton of information about the new shower facility, but it gives you at least a little bit of an idea what their organization is.
Thursday, June 23, 2016
Friday, June 17, 2016
Greek Dramas
Ok, so, it's been a week since I posted. It's been a very busy and full week, and I couldn't possibly fit all the stories I want to share into one post, but I thought I'd set down a few of the highlights to share while they are still fresh in my mind.
First of all, Naxos. Last Saturday we all got up at painful o'clock to catch our ferry out to the island of Naxos. It was the four of us interns, Kayla, Bri, Danae, and myself, and Lidia, the 18-year-old daughter of two helping hands staff people who we had met the week before. The biggest drama of the trip undoubtably arrived later that afternoon. We had arranged with Callie, a very kind greek lady from helping hands, to stay at her summer house on Naxos for the weekend, so after lunch in the port town, we set out. The lady at the bus office looked at our hand drawn map from Callie and told us that we could absolutely get to that location by bus, just take that bus to the last stop and it will only be about a 20 minute walk down the beach. Yes, that bus, the one that's leaving in 10 minutes, so you'd better decide quickly. With such confidently delivered advice, we felt no qualms promptly paying and hopping on the bus. Lidia even remarked that "Greeks walk slowly, so we could probably do it in 10 minutes instead of 20." With great enthusiasm we hopped off the vehicle at the last stop, picked up our bags, and set off , making plans about what we would do when we reached the house.
We did not reach the house after 10 minutes of walking.
We did not reach the house after 20 minutes of walking either.
We did not even reach the house after an entire hour of walking along first the sandy beach, and the dusty and winding road that followed. Instead, we reached a supermarket, that appeared to be the first landmark between us, and the house.
All in all in took us two and a half hours of hiking, five or six different individuals or groups of people stopped and asked directions of, including a very helpful potato farmer, and one final slog up the steepest hill I've ever seen a road on before we reached our fabled destination. Poor Lidia was the only one to pack a suitcase instead of a backpack, and she forgot her water bottle at our apartment in Athens to boot.
My reaction:
The journey from bus to beds was long, it was grueling, and it might have been prevented if we had found the right bus/stop/mode of transportation in the first place, but we made it. Nobody fainted from heatstroke. Nobody got mad and shouted and ruined the rest of the trip with sulking or hurt feelings, Nd we never even turned the wrong way, the distance between points A and B just turned out to be a lot longer than expected, but again, we made it. And hey, now it makes for a pretty great story, doesn't it?
Highlights from Naxos, because it wouldn't be fair to only include the speed bumps, number one was renting four wheelers! Clearly after our earlier misadventure, our feet were not sufficient transportation for Naxos, and nobody wanted to get on board another bus, so instead the five of us rented 3 four wheelers, or quads, whatever you weird people want to call them, and took off for a Saturday filled with adventures! The positive kind! We went swimming, we toured a castle, and we found some really great places to eat, and just as the icing on the cake, on Monday we had all day before our return ferry left at 6, so I got to climb a mountain (really big hill, but who's measuring) pretty much just because it was there. Rick, if you're reading this I hope you're proud. It was glorious, and we all pretty much passed out from exhaustion when we got back to our Athens beds at midnight that night.
Back in our normal stomping grounds on Tuesday we found plenty more to roll with. Intern number 5, our last, long awaited sister arrived at helping hands on Tuesday around 2 or 3pm. She has been a great sport about jumping aboard our metaphorical moving train, and didn't even get out of sorts over the fact that the first thing we did after she got there was pack up all our stuff, clean our Neos Kosmos apartment that she never slept in, and move back to our original apartment building one floor up. Not exactly the exciting greek life, nor particularly peaceful for the jet lagged and vacation weary, but she kept up like a champ.
Since then it's been a full week of ever busy work at helping hands, settling into a new apartment for good this time, and introducing Betty to the city. Today for example, after work we went to Monastaraki for gelato and shopping/exploration. Monastaraki (correct spelling pending) kind of reminds me of Times Square in New York. It's cliche and loud, a little bit overpriced, and totally centered around tourists, but that also means it's fun. There are a million shops with every kind of souvenir you've ever imagined and many more that you haven't. There are people everywhere from all sorts of countries speaking all sorts of languages to watch and listen to. There are street performers and hustlers and really genuine greek food, the stuff that every visitor has to try sitting at a crowded little sidewalk table with no elbow room. You can't stay there forever, it will make your head spin if you let it, but it also is one of the most colorful and alive destinations you can find, where tourists and locals jostle one another in the street to watch a pair of fire eaters or get to the best gelato place they've found. I love it.
Just this afternoon Monastaraki handed us a very... Iconic adventure that reminds me of the place it's self. Kayla and I were perusing a display from the street, when a Greek man recognized Kayla's t-shirt referencing her college. He asked her about it, and said something about having family in the at area, and where did she come from, and how about me, where am I from. Indiana? Oh, my nephew studies at Purdue. You too? Small world! Huzzah for America! And with that he went on his way. Kayla and I kind of smiled about it, and kept shopping, but the best part was yet to come.
Later, Bri and I were trailing the rest of the group a bit when we passed this man's little t-shirt store. The man recognized me and shouted at me. "Hey Indiana girl! Come in. Let me show you a little piece of Purdue. Inside I discovered that he had an entire curtain made of faded business cards. They were all shaped and sizes, stapled together in strands and each one labeled with a state abbreviation. He showed me two marked "IN" including one bona fide Purdue staff business card. "These are all my family. I have family all over the United States."
Then he called Bri in, mistaking her for Kayla. "Hey, California girl! You come in to. Let me show you too." Bri corrected him that she was from Colorado, but by now the rest of the girls had circled back and they all came in together. The man was so happy, and such a fast talker! Where are you all from, he asked, and then he asked Betty, whose parents are Mexican, if she was greek. No, Mexican, she told him. Ah, I should have guessed, but you look like a Greek goddess, and then he actually pinched her checks! Then of course he had to make the full rounds with complements on all of of our appearances how beautiful we all were with face squashing or cheek kisses or something of that nature. It was kind of weird, but it was also completely and utterly hilarious. Maybe I'm biased. By the time we left he had called me his favorite and said that next time I came he would let me pick out one of his sons so I could be his daughter in law.
He whole thing was ridiculous. Completely and utterly ridiculous but in an over the top welcoming way. He saw we were Americans. He loves Americans. He loved the fact that he got to talk to Americans and share his love of America with us, in a very very greek manner. It could have been creepy. Maybe some of the other girls thought it was at least more than I did, but as we all walked away, we all started laughing. Loud, ridiculous laughter at the loud and ridiculous thing that had just happened to us.
What can I say? Welcome to Greece.
First of all, Naxos. Last Saturday we all got up at painful o'clock to catch our ferry out to the island of Naxos. It was the four of us interns, Kayla, Bri, Danae, and myself, and Lidia, the 18-year-old daughter of two helping hands staff people who we had met the week before. The biggest drama of the trip undoubtably arrived later that afternoon. We had arranged with Callie, a very kind greek lady from helping hands, to stay at her summer house on Naxos for the weekend, so after lunch in the port town, we set out. The lady at the bus office looked at our hand drawn map from Callie and told us that we could absolutely get to that location by bus, just take that bus to the last stop and it will only be about a 20 minute walk down the beach. Yes, that bus, the one that's leaving in 10 minutes, so you'd better decide quickly. With such confidently delivered advice, we felt no qualms promptly paying and hopping on the bus. Lidia even remarked that "Greeks walk slowly, so we could probably do it in 10 minutes instead of 20." With great enthusiasm we hopped off the vehicle at the last stop, picked up our bags, and set off , making plans about what we would do when we reached the house.
We did not reach the house after 10 minutes of walking.
We did not reach the house after 20 minutes of walking either.
We did not even reach the house after an entire hour of walking along first the sandy beach, and the dusty and winding road that followed. Instead, we reached a supermarket, that appeared to be the first landmark between us, and the house.
All in all in took us two and a half hours of hiking, five or six different individuals or groups of people stopped and asked directions of, including a very helpful potato farmer, and one final slog up the steepest hill I've ever seen a road on before we reached our fabled destination. Poor Lidia was the only one to pack a suitcase instead of a backpack, and she forgot her water bottle at our apartment in Athens to boot.
My reaction:
The journey from bus to beds was long, it was grueling, and it might have been prevented if we had found the right bus/stop/mode of transportation in the first place, but we made it. Nobody fainted from heatstroke. Nobody got mad and shouted and ruined the rest of the trip with sulking or hurt feelings, Nd we never even turned the wrong way, the distance between points A and B just turned out to be a lot longer than expected, but again, we made it. And hey, now it makes for a pretty great story, doesn't it?
Highlights from Naxos, because it wouldn't be fair to only include the speed bumps, number one was renting four wheelers! Clearly after our earlier misadventure, our feet were not sufficient transportation for Naxos, and nobody wanted to get on board another bus, so instead the five of us rented 3 four wheelers, or quads, whatever you weird people want to call them, and took off for a Saturday filled with adventures! The positive kind! We went swimming, we toured a castle, and we found some really great places to eat, and just as the icing on the cake, on Monday we had all day before our return ferry left at 6, so I got to climb a mountain (really big hill, but who's measuring) pretty much just because it was there. Rick, if you're reading this I hope you're proud. It was glorious, and we all pretty much passed out from exhaustion when we got back to our Athens beds at midnight that night.
Back in our normal stomping grounds on Tuesday we found plenty more to roll with. Intern number 5, our last, long awaited sister arrived at helping hands on Tuesday around 2 or 3pm. She has been a great sport about jumping aboard our metaphorical moving train, and didn't even get out of sorts over the fact that the first thing we did after she got there was pack up all our stuff, clean our Neos Kosmos apartment that she never slept in, and move back to our original apartment building one floor up. Not exactly the exciting greek life, nor particularly peaceful for the jet lagged and vacation weary, but she kept up like a champ.
Since then it's been a full week of ever busy work at helping hands, settling into a new apartment for good this time, and introducing Betty to the city. Today for example, after work we went to Monastaraki for gelato and shopping/exploration. Monastaraki (correct spelling pending) kind of reminds me of Times Square in New York. It's cliche and loud, a little bit overpriced, and totally centered around tourists, but that also means it's fun. There are a million shops with every kind of souvenir you've ever imagined and many more that you haven't. There are people everywhere from all sorts of countries speaking all sorts of languages to watch and listen to. There are street performers and hustlers and really genuine greek food, the stuff that every visitor has to try sitting at a crowded little sidewalk table with no elbow room. You can't stay there forever, it will make your head spin if you let it, but it also is one of the most colorful and alive destinations you can find, where tourists and locals jostle one another in the street to watch a pair of fire eaters or get to the best gelato place they've found. I love it.
Just this afternoon Monastaraki handed us a very... Iconic adventure that reminds me of the place it's self. Kayla and I were perusing a display from the street, when a Greek man recognized Kayla's t-shirt referencing her college. He asked her about it, and said something about having family in the at area, and where did she come from, and how about me, where am I from. Indiana? Oh, my nephew studies at Purdue. You too? Small world! Huzzah for America! And with that he went on his way. Kayla and I kind of smiled about it, and kept shopping, but the best part was yet to come.
Later, Bri and I were trailing the rest of the group a bit when we passed this man's little t-shirt store. The man recognized me and shouted at me. "Hey Indiana girl! Come in. Let me show you a little piece of Purdue. Inside I discovered that he had an entire curtain made of faded business cards. They were all shaped and sizes, stapled together in strands and each one labeled with a state abbreviation. He showed me two marked "IN" including one bona fide Purdue staff business card. "These are all my family. I have family all over the United States."
Then he called Bri in, mistaking her for Kayla. "Hey, California girl! You come in to. Let me show you too." Bri corrected him that she was from Colorado, but by now the rest of the girls had circled back and they all came in together. The man was so happy, and such a fast talker! Where are you all from, he asked, and then he asked Betty, whose parents are Mexican, if she was greek. No, Mexican, she told him. Ah, I should have guessed, but you look like a Greek goddess, and then he actually pinched her checks! Then of course he had to make the full rounds with complements on all of of our appearances how beautiful we all were with face squashing or cheek kisses or something of that nature. It was kind of weird, but it was also completely and utterly hilarious. Maybe I'm biased. By the time we left he had called me his favorite and said that next time I came he would let me pick out one of his sons so I could be his daughter in law.
He whole thing was ridiculous. Completely and utterly ridiculous but in an over the top welcoming way. He saw we were Americans. He loves Americans. He loved the fact that he got to talk to Americans and share his love of America with us, in a very very greek manner. It could have been creepy. Maybe some of the other girls thought it was at least more than I did, but as we all walked away, we all started laughing. Loud, ridiculous laughter at the loud and ridiculous thing that had just happened to us.
What can I say? Welcome to Greece.
Sunday, June 12, 2016
Check In from Naxos
We made it safely to the island of Naxos, and are having a good time. We are having lots of adventures, and will have many stories to share when we get back. Have a good weekend everybody!
Wednesday, June 8, 2016
Snapshot Joys
I never have time to type up all the stories I want to share, but i will keep on putting up what pieces I can manage to squeeze in between serving and exploring and as of today, moving.
Yeah, news flash, the apartment in Ilioupoli where I've been staying in with the other interns is closed down for a week for the land lady's wedding, so we checked out this morning, and are staying in a helping hands owned apartment in Neos Kosmos for a week, then moving back to the same building, different (nicer) apartment next Tuesday. You can look up the sites on the metro map here, they are both on the red line. It's a hassle, but on the bright side, it gives us an excuse to visit an island this weekend while we aren't paying rent! Woohoo! That adventure is yet to come. Meanwhile we sent our suitcases over last night, and carried our overnight stuff to helping hands this morning and then to the new apartment on the metro. Everyone has warned us about how small this new apartment is, but funnily enough, it turns out that now that we are here it's obvious that this apartment is larger than our last one! Also, now we have an actual stove and oven rather than the weirdest combo mini stove/oven/microwave thing I've ever seen. Looks like we are moving up in the world!
On to more serious matters. I think my new favorite game is catch. Today is a Wednesday, which means women's shower day at helping hands. It means a smaller than normal crowd, about 12-15 women with their kids who come to take turns in the shower and just relax and let their hair down, literally! On Wednesdays no men are aloud in the building, so the women can take off their headscarves and wraps. It's a much quieter and more relaxed atmosphere that I really enjoy. We don't have a structured kids program usually, just a bunch of toys in the middle of the big room floor, and there will be a meal and then a bible lesson at some point during the day that are the only events.
Today we had an even smaller group than normal, either because metro strikes make it a little harder to get around, or because this is the first week of Ramadan, so people may be less interested in traveling downtown while they are fasting. We also had a short term team with us from California, 5 extra girls, which meant that we could pretty much have two volunteers to every kid if we wanted to. There were plenty of other things to do of course, but it meant that I got to hang out with one kid at a time instead of worrying about crowd control.
Two of he girls were sisters, maybe something like 3 and 6 respectively, and they had the hardest time getting along. Telling a two or three year old that she has to share is hard. Telling a two or three year old who doesn't speak English feels almost impossible, but we made it work. At one point early in the day however I got the little girl on her own, and I offered to play catch with her. She loved it so much! We mostly sat on he floor and rolled it back and forth, and anytime the ball got away, she would laugh so loud while she was running to fetch it. She even taught me a new word, bishi: sit, for when I tried to stand up. We must have played for half an hour, the same thing, back and forth. I don't know if it was having my undivided attention, or she just really loved the game that much, but I got to make a little girl happy today. It was so wonderful to get to see her joy.
Even if I did also have to later watch her cry because her sister wouldn't give her the toy scooter, no who cares about that identical scooter you're handing to me, my sister is sitting on that scooter right there and I WANT IT! Her sister pulled the same stunt 20 minutes later. I'm so sorry your heart is broken little miss drama queens. It really helped to know that, despite the tantrums, something about today was joyful for those little girls.
My other highlight came later in the day, not with little girls, but with two boys that were probably about 8 years old. I looked up, and saw the two of them were playing soccer in the hallway using an old volleyball that was flat enough not to hurt. One of the girls from California, Hannah, and I had the same idea, and rather than stop them we turned it into two on two! I won't deny for one minute that it was disruptive, and a little bit risky, but it was also, once again, fun. So many games are hard to explain without a common language, but all of us knew how to play soccer already, and no one was going to throw a fit over rules anyway. The goal was get it past the other team, shout for victory, and then start over again, playing as hard and as fast as we could go. Frequent timeouts were called to allow other people through the only passageway between the showers/front door/office and the main room and kitchen, but I don't think I saw a single scowl, not even from the people who didn't insist on a pause loudly enough and had to dodge both ball and players! We were laughing and sweating and pushing and crowing and all four of us is, refugee and volunteer, were happy about it.
I can't have meaningful conversations with mothers about Jesus in Farsi or Arabic, but I am lucky enough to give some of these kids a little attention and a lot of joy, and lucky enough to get to receive some of that joy as well. A phrase that has really been standing out to me this week has been, "being the hands and feet of Jesus," that idea that when I work and when I serve, my efforts and my gifts are not from myself, but from God who concedes to work through me. Honestly, that just strikes me as amazing, that God can somehow work through my unskilled and careless hands to do his miraculous and perfect work. Someone commented to me today that this is very practical work I am doing through helping hands, as compared to my more theoretical physics degree, and it is, but it also seems like a very impractical way for God to accomplish a His will. He just chooses to work in such a way as allows me to participate. Not for His sake, but for mine, and I am blessed beyond belief to be a part of His plan.
Yeah, news flash, the apartment in Ilioupoli where I've been staying in with the other interns is closed down for a week for the land lady's wedding, so we checked out this morning, and are staying in a helping hands owned apartment in Neos Kosmos for a week, then moving back to the same building, different (nicer) apartment next Tuesday. You can look up the sites on the metro map here, they are both on the red line. It's a hassle, but on the bright side, it gives us an excuse to visit an island this weekend while we aren't paying rent! Woohoo! That adventure is yet to come. Meanwhile we sent our suitcases over last night, and carried our overnight stuff to helping hands this morning and then to the new apartment on the metro. Everyone has warned us about how small this new apartment is, but funnily enough, it turns out that now that we are here it's obvious that this apartment is larger than our last one! Also, now we have an actual stove and oven rather than the weirdest combo mini stove/oven/microwave thing I've ever seen. Looks like we are moving up in the world!
On to more serious matters. I think my new favorite game is catch. Today is a Wednesday, which means women's shower day at helping hands. It means a smaller than normal crowd, about 12-15 women with their kids who come to take turns in the shower and just relax and let their hair down, literally! On Wednesdays no men are aloud in the building, so the women can take off their headscarves and wraps. It's a much quieter and more relaxed atmosphere that I really enjoy. We don't have a structured kids program usually, just a bunch of toys in the middle of the big room floor, and there will be a meal and then a bible lesson at some point during the day that are the only events.
Today we had an even smaller group than normal, either because metro strikes make it a little harder to get around, or because this is the first week of Ramadan, so people may be less interested in traveling downtown while they are fasting. We also had a short term team with us from California, 5 extra girls, which meant that we could pretty much have two volunteers to every kid if we wanted to. There were plenty of other things to do of course, but it meant that I got to hang out with one kid at a time instead of worrying about crowd control.
Two of he girls were sisters, maybe something like 3 and 6 respectively, and they had the hardest time getting along. Telling a two or three year old that she has to share is hard. Telling a two or three year old who doesn't speak English feels almost impossible, but we made it work. At one point early in the day however I got the little girl on her own, and I offered to play catch with her. She loved it so much! We mostly sat on he floor and rolled it back and forth, and anytime the ball got away, she would laugh so loud while she was running to fetch it. She even taught me a new word, bishi: sit, for when I tried to stand up. We must have played for half an hour, the same thing, back and forth. I don't know if it was having my undivided attention, or she just really loved the game that much, but I got to make a little girl happy today. It was so wonderful to get to see her joy.
Even if I did also have to later watch her cry because her sister wouldn't give her the toy scooter, no who cares about that identical scooter you're handing to me, my sister is sitting on that scooter right there and I WANT IT! Her sister pulled the same stunt 20 minutes later. I'm so sorry your heart is broken little miss drama queens. It really helped to know that, despite the tantrums, something about today was joyful for those little girls.
My other highlight came later in the day, not with little girls, but with two boys that were probably about 8 years old. I looked up, and saw the two of them were playing soccer in the hallway using an old volleyball that was flat enough not to hurt. One of the girls from California, Hannah, and I had the same idea, and rather than stop them we turned it into two on two! I won't deny for one minute that it was disruptive, and a little bit risky, but it was also, once again, fun. So many games are hard to explain without a common language, but all of us knew how to play soccer already, and no one was going to throw a fit over rules anyway. The goal was get it past the other team, shout for victory, and then start over again, playing as hard and as fast as we could go. Frequent timeouts were called to allow other people through the only passageway between the showers/front door/office and the main room and kitchen, but I don't think I saw a single scowl, not even from the people who didn't insist on a pause loudly enough and had to dodge both ball and players! We were laughing and sweating and pushing and crowing and all four of us is, refugee and volunteer, were happy about it.
I can't have meaningful conversations with mothers about Jesus in Farsi or Arabic, but I am lucky enough to give some of these kids a little attention and a lot of joy, and lucky enough to get to receive some of that joy as well. A phrase that has really been standing out to me this week has been, "being the hands and feet of Jesus," that idea that when I work and when I serve, my efforts and my gifts are not from myself, but from God who concedes to work through me. Honestly, that just strikes me as amazing, that God can somehow work through my unskilled and careless hands to do his miraculous and perfect work. Someone commented to me today that this is very practical work I am doing through helping hands, as compared to my more theoretical physics degree, and it is, but it also seems like a very impractical way for God to accomplish a His will. He just chooses to work in such a way as allows me to participate. Not for His sake, but for mine, and I am blessed beyond belief to be a part of His plan.
Sunday, June 5, 2016
Starting Out
I've made it through my first week here.
I've learned how to navigate between Helping Hands and our apartment, gotten to know all of my roommates so far, and most importantly gotten to know Helping Hands.
I got thrown into work first thing Tuesday morning, utterly jet-lagged after getting to the apartment at 1:30am the night before. I had one roommate that night, Kayla who is amazing and has been a wonderful tour guide for myself and the other interns that have trickled in at one day intervals this week. We are up to four girls now. Kayla, me, Bri (short for Brianna), and Danae. One more girl, Betty, will be joining us in two weeks, and hen we will have the complete set!
Anyway, on Tuesday Kayla showed me how to take the metro to the Helping Hands building downtown, and helped show me the ropes once there.
Helping Hands is a full time, year round ministry that serves mainly refugees from Afghanistan and Iran. As it was explained to me, although Syrians are in the news the most, large international organizations are focusing a lot of effort on working with them, and helping them move into different parts of Europe. Most Syrian refugees don't stay in Greece for very many weeks, but the borders that are open for Syrians are less permeable for Afghans and Persians. They are likely to stay in Greek refugee camps for many weeks, and it is this group that Helping Hands focuses on reaching. Their goal is to build relationships with refugees by meeting physical needs, in order to offer them the more important satisfaction that is the hope of Christ Jesus.
Most of the refugees that helping hands serves pretty much only speak Farsi or Dari, which are mutually understandable. I now know two words in Farsi: Salam,which is a greeting, and Tasha kor, which is thank you. Nothing else so far has really stuck with me, but it's a work in progress. The language barrier has been a larger challenge than I had expected. On some level I knew that I would be interacting with people who did not understand my language and whose language I also wouldn't understand, but that didn't really sink in until Paris, where instructions and explanations would be offered in French, and then usually in English, if I was lucky. At Helping Hands there are very few translators to go around, which means that I am often on my own to communicate. Luckily, I've found that some things don't need words, like playing with children.
Tuesday, my first day on the job, Kayla and I (but mostly Kayla unsurprisingly) were asked to run the kids program after the family lunch. It was unusually short notice, but we had a couple hours to pick a story, come up with an activity, and get everything set up. We had a translator, Marta, but she was losing her voice, so she mostly translated the story and left the rest up to us. We decided to do the story of Jesus feeding the 5,000, so we used the prep time to print out lots of baskets, bread, and fish for the kids to color and glue together.
Then it was time for the refugees to arrive. I stood at the door with four other volunteers to welcome people, and to play with the kids that were finally arriving! Patty-cake and hand games apparently transcend any one culture! The kids were energetic and excited. They were so happy to see us and reminded me so much of every other kid I've babysat, a little bit hyper at the excitement of someone or something new, but so filled with joy and imagination. After lunch Kayla and I got to herd them all into the kids room. We sang a few very familiar songs, such as "if you're happy and you know it clap your hands" with new Farsi words that I had to learn, and sat them all down for the story. It was funny. I had expected them to be squirrelly for the story, but they were generally quiet and focused. It was as if they'd never heard the story before, which I realized was probably true. The story that to me feels amost trite, a repetitive callback to my childhood, to these kids that story was brand new and original. It was strange and foreign with a twist ending. That was quite the reminder that these kids aren't growing up in Sunday school. They have a completely different journey than I did at their age, and I only get to be one page or less in their story, but I am lucky enough to be a part of it.
After story time we handed out the coloring pages and crayons first. The kids took their time getting the right colors. When kids finished coloring and we offered them scissors, some kids were confused at first. I guess we hadn't explained well, but when I would show them my example, and bend the bread and fish to show how I had glued them onto the paper,vtheir faces would get so huge! It was like watching a firework go of in each kids expression, that eureka moment when they understoodnwhat I wanted to show them. When each kid was finished, they would bring me or Kayla their paper. We would oo and ah and then tape it up on the board with my example in a place of honor for all to see. That, that was cool. Each picture that I displayed felt like a gift, however small. I cannot solve your problems. I cannot give you a stable home or make sure you have something to eat every single meal, but this, this I can give you. I can love what you make. I can smile at your efforts. And I can tell you that you are special enough to put your artwork on display.
It really isn't much, and it feels really inadequate in comparison to the real meaningful conversations other members of the Helping Hands team can have with these kids' parents about their stories or about God, but this is what I have to offer, and this is something that God can work with. I was thinking about it last night, how little I have to offer, and I was reminded that God's power is made perfect in our weakness. He is the one who is at work in the hearts and minds of these refugees. He is the one at work in this city, and he is the one who chooses to reveal himself sometimes through our weak hands and feeble efforts. What I cannot do, he is able to do in infinite measure, and he is not limited by my flaws or my stumbling blocks, but rejoices in the chance to make his power known. It is a humbling reminder, but one that I think I need to be able to walk this journey, because if I try to do anything on this trip on my own power, I know that I am going to fall flat on my face, but I can do anything through him who gives me strength.
I've learned how to navigate between Helping Hands and our apartment, gotten to know all of my roommates so far, and most importantly gotten to know Helping Hands.
I got thrown into work first thing Tuesday morning, utterly jet-lagged after getting to the apartment at 1:30am the night before. I had one roommate that night, Kayla who is amazing and has been a wonderful tour guide for myself and the other interns that have trickled in at one day intervals this week. We are up to four girls now. Kayla, me, Bri (short for Brianna), and Danae. One more girl, Betty, will be joining us in two weeks, and hen we will have the complete set!
Anyway, on Tuesday Kayla showed me how to take the metro to the Helping Hands building downtown, and helped show me the ropes once there.
Helping Hands is a full time, year round ministry that serves mainly refugees from Afghanistan and Iran. As it was explained to me, although Syrians are in the news the most, large international organizations are focusing a lot of effort on working with them, and helping them move into different parts of Europe. Most Syrian refugees don't stay in Greece for very many weeks, but the borders that are open for Syrians are less permeable for Afghans and Persians. They are likely to stay in Greek refugee camps for many weeks, and it is this group that Helping Hands focuses on reaching. Their goal is to build relationships with refugees by meeting physical needs, in order to offer them the more important satisfaction that is the hope of Christ Jesus.
Most of the refugees that helping hands serves pretty much only speak Farsi or Dari, which are mutually understandable. I now know two words in Farsi: Salam,which is a greeting, and Tasha kor, which is thank you. Nothing else so far has really stuck with me, but it's a work in progress. The language barrier has been a larger challenge than I had expected. On some level I knew that I would be interacting with people who did not understand my language and whose language I also wouldn't understand, but that didn't really sink in until Paris, where instructions and explanations would be offered in French, and then usually in English, if I was lucky. At Helping Hands there are very few translators to go around, which means that I am often on my own to communicate. Luckily, I've found that some things don't need words, like playing with children.
Tuesday, my first day on the job, Kayla and I (but mostly Kayla unsurprisingly) were asked to run the kids program after the family lunch. It was unusually short notice, but we had a couple hours to pick a story, come up with an activity, and get everything set up. We had a translator, Marta, but she was losing her voice, so she mostly translated the story and left the rest up to us. We decided to do the story of Jesus feeding the 5,000, so we used the prep time to print out lots of baskets, bread, and fish for the kids to color and glue together.
Then it was time for the refugees to arrive. I stood at the door with four other volunteers to welcome people, and to play with the kids that were finally arriving! Patty-cake and hand games apparently transcend any one culture! The kids were energetic and excited. They were so happy to see us and reminded me so much of every other kid I've babysat, a little bit hyper at the excitement of someone or something new, but so filled with joy and imagination. After lunch Kayla and I got to herd them all into the kids room. We sang a few very familiar songs, such as "if you're happy and you know it clap your hands" with new Farsi words that I had to learn, and sat them all down for the story. It was funny. I had expected them to be squirrelly for the story, but they were generally quiet and focused. It was as if they'd never heard the story before, which I realized was probably true. The story that to me feels amost trite, a repetitive callback to my childhood, to these kids that story was brand new and original. It was strange and foreign with a twist ending. That was quite the reminder that these kids aren't growing up in Sunday school. They have a completely different journey than I did at their age, and I only get to be one page or less in their story, but I am lucky enough to be a part of it.
After story time we handed out the coloring pages and crayons first. The kids took their time getting the right colors. When kids finished coloring and we offered them scissors, some kids were confused at first. I guess we hadn't explained well, but when I would show them my example, and bend the bread and fish to show how I had glued them onto the paper,vtheir faces would get so huge! It was like watching a firework go of in each kids expression, that eureka moment when they understoodnwhat I wanted to show them. When each kid was finished, they would bring me or Kayla their paper. We would oo and ah and then tape it up on the board with my example in a place of honor for all to see. That, that was cool. Each picture that I displayed felt like a gift, however small. I cannot solve your problems. I cannot give you a stable home or make sure you have something to eat every single meal, but this, this I can give you. I can love what you make. I can smile at your efforts. And I can tell you that you are special enough to put your artwork on display.
It really isn't much, and it feels really inadequate in comparison to the real meaningful conversations other members of the Helping Hands team can have with these kids' parents about their stories or about God, but this is what I have to offer, and this is something that God can work with. I was thinking about it last night, how little I have to offer, and I was reminded that God's power is made perfect in our weakness. He is the one who is at work in the hearts and minds of these refugees. He is the one at work in this city, and he is the one who chooses to reveal himself sometimes through our weak hands and feeble efforts. What I cannot do, he is able to do in infinite measure, and he is not limited by my flaws or my stumbling blocks, but rejoices in the chance to make his power known. It is a humbling reminder, but one that I think I need to be able to walk this journey, because if I try to do anything on this trip on my own power, I know that I am going to fall flat on my face, but I can do anything through him who gives me strength.
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