Ramadan becomes personal....

Generally speaking, I like Ramadan. While some Christians dread the darkness, I like the fact that our God in His great mercy rewards those who truely seek Him. It is a time of year where He often speaks in dreams in visions and responds to those who truely seek, even if they are looking in all the wrong places.

In the busy-ness of a crazy busy Monday, I agreed to go with Stacie and Susan on Tuesday to see M. and her sister B. Kenn was driving and helping take over some pieces to a bookcase they were getting from our neighbors who are moving to Iraq. I'd been to their house before, so this was no big deal. The sisters speak Turkmeni and Russian and a little Greek. I'm not good with any of those languages, but I like to go and entertain the daughters, so my teammates can have conversations in Russian without being distracted. Neither sister covers their head, so I had no reason to expect they would be too seriously observing Ramadan.

Their apartment is on the 2nd floor. We hiked the stairs in the dark because the lights were burned out, but once we were inside it was well lit. The apartment consists of 1 bedroom, 1 bathroom, a hallway that is used as the kitchen, and a living room. We came in the door and B was sitting on the floor in the hallway working on a meal for us. The older daughter was at school and the younger one was home sick. (Ah...more germs...just what I need, now that I am over the flu!) They shew (yes, shew like a "fly", not show) me into the living room as I am the honored guest.

I stop short of going in. On the floor in the living room is a small red prayer rug, facing Mecca through an open window. In front of the rug is an open Koran. Someone is barefoot, kneeling, head covered, arms covered, wearing no make-up and glasses, intently praying. This can't be M. She never covers her head, or her arms. She wears make-up and never wears her glasses. I look closely and sure enough it is her. I'm speechless. I apologize for interrupting and head back to the hallway to bother B who is cooking. Again I am sent back to the living room. Now M has stopped praying and greets me. It really is her. I'm uncomfortable with how different this woman is from the M I know.

Later while we are eating, we are talking about Ramadan (it really is all anyone talks about this time of year). The topic today is why M is fasting and B is eating with us. Evidently there are some rules that cover eating in the day time if you work at night (which B does). She has now worked all night and prepared food for us during the day. I'm not sure she will get any sleep. My question is how do you know if you have done it correctly if there are so many exceptions. How do you know it is enough? This launches a serious Russian conversation that I can't follow about why no one can ever be good enough and why Jesus had to die. B is interested, M withdraws from the conversation and glares at M. Susan makes faces at M, so the conversation continues between Stacie and B while the faces and teasing goes on the other direction. I'm just praying that God will speak to B.

I can't imagine the pressure of having to be good enough to please Almighty God...and it is not enough that you as a woman are good enough to please God, you must be married to a man that pleases Him too. Women without men have no value. B's husband has died. M's husband is in jail for people trafficking. Neither seems a likely candidate to get them into heaven. This means they must find a good man who will marry them, probably becoming his second wife...another unenvy-able position to my western way of thinking. Yes, Ramadan has now become personal, my friends are working so hard at something that they cannot achieve. Where is the hope?

Nader and Ella's Resident Permit Story....

Nader is from Iran and his wife Ella is from the Philippines. He has been the pastor of the Persian Christian Fellowship (part of the International Teams ministry here in Athens) for almost 10 years. He has applied for papers here in Greece and has been granted temporary residence, but not asylum (an EU passport allowing him the freedom to travel). His Iranian passport will expire in about a year. He has been recorded preaching about Jesus on satellite. This does not help his chances with the Islamic Republic for getting his passport renewed. Year after year, Nader has watched other refugees travel to places like Norway, Canada and Belgium and be granted asylum. Last year, Nader was offered a job as a pastor in Norway to a church that had 3 Persian congregations in different parts of the area. He was not given a visa to work in Norway because he did not have a masters in divinity (from exactly what seminary in Iran would you expect to get such a thing?) even though the church had guaranteed his salary.

In June, Nader went to pick up his Greek residence permit. He has renewed it every year for many years without a problem. This year when he went to pick it up, they approved his and denied his wife Ella's. They stated they had not applied as a couple and that they had insufficient income to apply as two individuals. They wanted to take back Nader's permit while they reprocessed it as a couple leaving him with no paperwork at all. This was not good. He eventually canceled his plane ticket to Norway because he didn't want to get deported back to Iran, he needed legal Greek status in case asylum didn't work out.

Then there was the summer. All of it. No e-mail from the municipality. No letter from the municipality. His name did not appear on the bulletin board stating his permit was ready. He had hired a lawyer (a good one) and had done everything she said. The paperwork should be there, but it was not. The lady that had been helping them was being transferred. Her last day was last Friday. Still, no e-mail; no letter; no posting on the bulletin board. No papers for Nader.

Nader woke up early that Friday. He spent the time praying. He humbled himself and confessed his obsession with getting asylum and left it in God's hands. God told him to go stand in line at the municipality. He got there at 8 am and there were already 40 people ahead of him. As the clock neared 12 (the time the office closes for processing permits), Nader was finally called in. This lady asked him, "Did you get an e-mail?" "Did you get a letter?" "Is you name on the bulletin board outside?" Nader told her "no". So she asked, "Why are you here?". He asked if she would just look and see if perhaps it was in, since it was her last day and he was her last customer. There is no electronic database, the books are large and thick. She flipped through the book and Nader spotted Ella's permit! This was unexpected, but even though he had her passport, she would not give it to him nor would she give him the file number so someone else could find yet because Ella needed to be physically present and she was not there. More flipping. Finally, they found Nader's. They pasted it in his passport and said "good-bye".

Nader expected Ella to be at home, because that was where he had left her. She woke up and God placed this lady at the municipality on her mind, so she baked sweets for her and brought them to the office. She was standing there when he came outside. Nader pushed his way back in and dragged Ella with him. Ella got her permit. This lady got her sweets and God gets the glory.

Nader is now in Norway and will apply for asylum next week. Ella waits here until his paperwork is final and he can send for her. It removes a layer of complication since her passport is Filipino and and not Iranian. Pray for them as they are apart. God's timing is perfect.

Could Jesus really love me?

Salam. My name is Hawney and I am a 2 year old little girl from Afghanistan. I don't really say much, but if I did I would tell you that I am the 4th of 5 children. My baby brother and I live in a stroller that my friends at the Athens Refugee Center gave me. Mostly our family lives in the park, but sometimes we stay with friends. We used to have an apartment that we shared with another family, but my father spent our rent money on drugs and now we can't live there anymore. I like it when the ARC is open. It is cooler than the park and I feel safe there. Sometimes I get to take a shower there and they wash my clothes. Once I gave myself a shower in the men's bathroom during Tea House and made my mother very unhappy with me for getting my clothes wet and filling my shoes with water. I wish we had a safe place to live. I wish my mother would stop crying. I wish my father would stop taking drugs and would work harder to take care of us. I think I am invisible. Could Jesus really love me?

Salam. My name is Peter and I am from Sudan. I don't really talk anymore either. I am 3 years old. My father fled Sudan when it became unsafe to live in our village. He purchased my mother in Ethiopia. I was born in Greece. I am an only child. My mother left our us in May to get a job on an island. No one thinks she is coming back, ever. My dad didn't know I was old enough to eat solid food, so he just gave me milk, until someone at the Athens Refugee Center told him I could eat other food. We live in an apartment, but I don't know how much longer we can stay. My dad doesn't think I understand, but I know he isn't able to pay the rent and if my mom doesn't send money soon, we will be living in the park like my friend, Hawney. I am afraid my dad will leave me too. He doesn't know what to do with me. Childcare is woman's work and my mom is gone. I don't let him out of my sight. I don't speak anymore. I just throw temper tantrums on the floor if I don't get my way. I know this doesn't help my dad like me more, but I am so frustrated and so afraid, I just don't know what to do with myself. Could Jesus really love me?

They say that Jesus sees. They say that Jesus knows. They say that Jesus cares. Pray for me and my family. We are desperate. We are without hope. We don't know Jesus. We are alone.

I have a problem, can you help me?

[Note: this is NOT the picture of the woman described below. I didn't take one that day, but this reminds me of her.]

I hear those words multiple times a day. Most of the time in Farsi. Today I heard them in English. Three days ago she was the spoiled daughter of an important man in Kabul. She lived in a nice house and never gave a second thought to whether there was enough money or food. Today she is a refugee. She spent everything she had to be with the man she loved (against her powerful father's will) and the people smuggler only brought them as far as Athens and left them here with nothing. Last night she shared a room with 18 other people from her country she didn't even know three days ago. Time to grow up quickly.

I was busy in the baby room with 25 hot, tired children who were playing well together, but not quietly. I barely heard her talk to me. "Excuse me, I have a problem, can you help me?" I took her out on the balcony so that I could hear her more clearly. Her English isn't great and my Dari is worse. I may not even have her story straight, but I do understand she has been here 3 days and she is hungry. I ask her to wait 3 hours until we close, so that I can give her food. Even this becomes a problem because, 4 of the other women she lives with wait with her and I don't have food for them, so I try to give her enough to share...beans, rice, pasta. Over the 3 hours while she is waiting, we chat off and on. I discover she speaks Russian, as she studied at the university in Russia. She has her certificate to teach elementary school age children. I introduce her to our teammates that speak Russian. It takes her mind off her problems and temporarily the tears stop. Around 3 pm, the Greek Orthodox church passes out food across the street, her roommates pick up some for her and bring it back to where we wait. She tries to feed ME! I convince her to eat.

So why am I in Athens? I wonder that myself some days. I can't solve many problems. I gave a little bit of benedryl today to a woman with hives. I gave food to my new friend, that will not last a week in an apartment with so many mouths to feed. I heard a child laugh today, who hasn't cracked a smile in my presence since he left Sudan almost a year ago. I don't have jobs to give. I can't give you a passport. What I can offer you is citizenship in God's kingdom and a home prepared for you in heaven by the God who created you and knows exactly what this home should look like to make you feel like you have come home. I can offer forgiveness for the things you regret. I can offer hope. That is why I stay. In America you can walk into a church, turn on Christian radio, watch Christian TV. If you want to know the God of the universe, He isn't very hard to find. Where my refugee friends come from, God's name isn't spoken often and most would never have the opportunity to choose to follow his son Jesus. I am a follower of Jesus and for now He has chosen to let me serve Him here...so here I serve.

Monday - New Schedule

Well, with the new schedule, Monday is a working day. We serve tea at the Athens Refugee Center (ARC) on Mondays. I walk to the end of our block to the bus stop and catch the 9:30 am bus (if it comes). About 30 minutes later, I catch the metro and take it to Omonia. From there I walk about 6 blocks to the ARC. I can do this pretty much in my sleep. I have my ipod playing music in my ears and the hour passes very quickly.

I hang up my coat and my purse. I shove my camera and my phone in my pockets and head the main room to help set up. We take down the chairs (which were put up so the floor could be mopped the night before). We put out the chess games and the backgammon games on the table. It's my turn to lead devotions. We (on any given day there might be as few as 10 of us or as many as 30) gather together. Devotions are about the parable of the Good Samaritan. Ever picture him as the Indian taking the poor cowboy with arrows sticking out his back into Dodge City? What was a Samaritan doing with an injured Jew in Jewish Jericho? After devotions we assign the tasks (who will be "kitchen master", who will work in the baby room? who will work in the children's room?). I am in the baby room today. Then we pray for the day that is about to being.

The baby room has also been mopped, so I'm unrolling the carpets and setting up the small tables and chairs. I pull toys out of the cupboards. The weather is rainy outside, so we will have a house full today. We open early so they don't have to stand in the cold stoa or in the rain. Within an hour, my room (and the main room) is full to capacity. We have an Iranian refugee who is a believer visiting today from Italy. She has engaged a young mom in conversation in the corner of the baby room. They are pouring over the Bible they share between them quietly talking in Farsi that is way outside my vocabulary as a learner. I know the husband of this young mom abuses the children, I've seen the redness of his handprint on their faces and his fingerprints bruised on their arms. There is no Children's Services here to report him to, we just pray often and give the kids extra love and attention because they are starved for it. The children are angy and not easy to love--some days I can almost understand the abuse.

The lady is here today that only brings 1 of the 10 month old twins because she doesn't have a double stroller. I suspect her 9 year old watches the other baby at home while she comes to see us. Some of the children are playing with the pretend kitchen. Others are building towers with legos. Still others are looking at books or playing with the Fisher Price "people". The 2 hours passes quickly. We close the room to children so that adult English classes can meet. Now the children share the large room with the adults.

As usual, the 4 boys (I call them my "lost boys", ages 7 to 11) are pushing and shoving and knocking over tea. I head to the office to find Candyland. We will spent the next hour and 1/2 playing Candyland in Farsi, over and over again to keep them entertained and to protect the unsuspecting from having hot tea dumped in their lap by boys with too much energy and not enough education. They are quite smart and ought to be in school, but they are not. The Passion is playing on the TVs above us. Many are watching. The seekers classes will be full today. The same young mom heads to the Seekers class with still more questions. 10 days from now, she will make a decision to follow Jesus that will put her in harms way with her husband. Hopefully he won't leave her. We pray that God will change his heart as well and that some day their home will be a safe place for their children.

At 4 pm, we turn off the lights. Send the refugees home. We wipe down tables. We put up the chairs (again). We sweep. We mop and clean the bathrooms and head for home. First the walk, then the train, then the bus, then the walk and then home. We make dinner. We watch the sunset over the balcony and over the sea. We read our e-mail and catch up with the world outside of Athens. We watch a bit of TV and head to bed. Kali Nichta! (Good night)

Monday

I'm adapting so well to Greece that sometimes I forget I even live here. I thought I'd take a week and describe for you how life here is different.

Monday is our day off (not Saturday--we work on Saturdays). So, I slept in a bit. We don't leave the water heater on unless we are using it, so I laid awake for 30 minutes while the water got hot so I could shower. Kenn took off early to go get his hair cut. I ate breakfast and washed the dishes (by hand). I washed clothes. Our clothes washer heats its own water and it located in our bathroom. We don't have a dryer, so I hang the clothes on a rack outside even though it will likely rain later today. While the clothes are washing, I decide to garden a bit.

We don't have a yard of our own, so my sweet peas are up about 4 inches high in various pots around my balcony. None of the pots are deep enough for my little plants to live long term, so it is time to repot them. I put them in their permanent home a new pot in my living room because it was in the low 40s outside--too cold to play with my bare hands. I clean the house on Mondays, so why not make a mess worth cleaning up?

This plan, of course, ran amuck when I couldn't find the extension cord to plug in the vacuum cleaner. Who designs equipment with a 3 foot cord? So...unable to clean and having made a really big mess with dirt everywhere, I decided it must be time to go grocery shopping.

I grab my environmentally friendly bags,and my grocery list; and take off for the bus. I was sitting on the bus, enjoying my itouch and completely forgot to get off at the right stop! I had to hike back up a hill to the store. I put my 1 euro coin into the basket lock (which is how they get you to return the grocery carts here--if you don't put it back, you don't get your coin back). I shop in a store that is pretty American like (French, actually) until you have to take your cart up the escalator to get to the other half of the store on the upper floor. I finished up. Paid my money. Bagged my own groceries, in my own bags and sadly saw my bus stopping across the street while I was returning my basket. Deciding what to buy at the grocery store has taken on a whole new dimension since we are without a car again. "How much does it weigh?" is now a significant question as I have to make everything fit in my 2 bags and I need to be able to lift them. Oh well...now I have 20 minutes to wait in the cold and spitting rain for the next bus. 10 minutes later I saw my second choice of a bus and decided to take it (not my best choice ever). It drops me at the bottom of our hill, by the church and I need a second bus or a lot of energy to hike my groceries up the hill when I take this bus. 20 minutes later I caught the 2nd bus. If I had waited the original 20 minutes for my bus, I would have saved 10 minutes. I put my groceries away.

Kenn was home from the haircutting place and the bakery (he bought bread) and found the extension cord for me behind the futon in the office. (Why didn't I think to look there?) But, now it is "quiet hours" and I can't vacuum because it makes too much noise. In Greece we are quiet from 1 to 5 pm while the world around us has family lunch and takes a nap. It is kind of like the Mexican siesta only more annoying as stores close and you have to figure out how to be quiet in the prime part of your day. So I had lunch and stared at my dirt. I spent the next few hours learning my 40 new Farsi words for the week and catching up on e-mail and FB.

Our friends, Kent and Myrna picked us up at 4 pm and took us to the movie (we go about every 6 months whether we need to or not, dates are important). We saw something called "Benjamin Buttons". It was in English with Greek subtitles. When you buy tickets here, you get an assigned seat, but other than that, it is mostly the same. Even the popcorn tastes the same. After the movie we went to dinner at Applebees (yes, Applebees) and then drove the 45 minutes back to our house, by then it was after 10 pm. Not bad for a day off. I heated my rice buddy in the microwave to warm my bed. I read my Jewish study Bible for a while and closed my eyes.

Christmas 2008

This picture is from the night of the Farsi Christmas party. There were riots in the streets in downtown Athens. The smell of tear gas wafting up the stairwell and we had a room full of refugees who wanted to learn more about the Christ of Christmas. Myrna and her crew had put on the puppet show. The games were over. Nader had given the message and distributed Bibles to those that asked and we sat down to dinner with this family.

The little girl, M., spoke some English, but the rest of the family did not speak any. As they told their story, they whipped out their digital camera. They wanted a picture of where they spent Christmas. The cool part, was that on this tiny camera were pictures of their entire journey from Afghanistan to Greece. The places they walked. The places they slept. The boat they hid in. I've heard lots of stories, but I had never seen pictures. I could not imagine these small children traveling that far. Picture walking your kids to from Disneyland to Las Vegas and then do it again.

The parents had created an environment where this was an adventure and not life changing trauma. It reminded me of how much of a different our attitudes can make....something like what the apostle James tells us "consider it pure joy my brothers when you face troubles of many kinds because you know that the testing of your faith brings perseverance. Perseverance must finish its work so that you may be mature and complete not lacking anything." Its easy to have joy when your Christmas stockings are full and there are presents under the tree, but what's your joy like today? What kind of an environment are you creating for your family? Wish you were here.