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.