Decompression & Reflection

     It's been about 6 months since I moved back to America from Cyprus. When I first got home, I had really weird dreams. For a while, I thought it was a reverse culture-shock thing, but I still have them several months later. Sometimes in my dreams, all the constellations are upside down again, like they looked in Cyprus in May. That is  the biggest thing that made me feel far away from my country...it was more than being in a different climate, surrounded by different languages; looking at the night sky made me feel like I was in a totally different world!

     If I'm honest most days I don't think about my time on that island a lot. I keep myself busy enough to not think back too much, but remember enough to [hopefully] keep in mind the lessons I learned. But if I ever have enough time available to let my mind wander, the memories start pouring in! And then I just miss it all so much. How close I felt to God, the community, the people who became my family, the stories we heard about and got to see, the unbelievable encounters we had, the places we got to go, and the strangers who became friends that changed my life.

     

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     I know my time spent in Cyprus changed me for the better. I'm better at being more understanding, and gentle when sharing my opinions, but I'm not as timid when it comes to speaking out the truth even when its unpopular. Because now I remember innocent faces when I hear my peers complaining about refugees burdening our society. When I hear someone suggest "sending them back where they came from" I see the displaced family cramped in the refugee camp, and the hope in their eyes when they talk about coming to America.

     I can remember enough in a moment like that to try to explain to someone who doesn't fully understand that while politicians are calling refugees a problem, they are people, for goodness sake, who need love. But then there are moments like now: where I'm alone for several moments all strung together, and I start remembering too much, and begin overthinking and wondering about all the people I met in Cyprus.

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   [ "This is for the Better Days" ]

[A mural inside a refugee camp in Kofinou, Cyprus]

  I wonder about my friend Bethlehem who was in an immigration prison when I left. Has she been able to get papers to prove who she is? If and when she gets out, will she be alone? Who does she know that can help her? Will she be able to find a way back to her home in Ethiopia? Will she ever be reunited with her son?

    Or what about our Muslim neighbor who was trying to go to Norway with his wife and son, but only they were allowed to go and he had to stay in Cyprus? Is he going to be stranded on the island for years, or will the screening process begin to move more quickly?

     I also wonder about Sheila, the Chinese woman in my ESL class who asked me so many questions about Jesus. Does she remember anything I said? Did anyone pick up where I left off? Has she since become a believer?

     These questions and so many more plague me, and thinking about how I'll likely never see these people again to get to know the answers is what really gets to me. I only participated in the lives of these people for a few short months, yet the impact they made on my heart is huge. Their stories will stay with me and I'm thankful to have them, but it hurts knowing that their stories are still going on and I won't know how they go until it's all over. 

     Halfway around the world, these dear people with heartbreaking stories are living on, and whether their situations are improving, staying the same, or getting worse, I can't know.  I wish I could have done more for them while I was with them. Because now I'm back in America, and for all I know, they're still stranded on the island. A world apart...not even the internet can bridge this gap.

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     Why did I get to simply fly home? Why do I have everything I could ever want? My heart is full of gratitude and guilt all at the same time. I've been blessed so fully...but why me? Why has God given me every silly desire of my heart and on the other side of the globe my friend Malachi just wishes his daughter was still alive, and Naomi just wishes a member of ISIS hadn't killed her brother, and David just wishes he could read his Bible to his family without having his life threatened. 

     I can't understand why things happen; they just do. I don't know why God answers prayers in the ways that He does; but He knows best. Trusting instead of worrying is the thing I'm the worst at which is why I feel so sad when I start thinking about all of this. 

     I know that the well~being of these people isn't my responsibility, but I love them and I want the best for them. But when I feel helpless and when the unfairness of the world is glaring at me, I just have to remember that He loves them so, so much more than I do, and He wants what's best for all of them too.

-Rebecca Rae