A Phenix In Flight

It’s a clothing distribution week and futbol jerseys are the most exciting item on our warehouse shelves. The boys are just thrilled when they find one, regardless of the team, the size, or the condition of the shirt.   Aemon discovered a futbol jersey on a hidden rack. He held it up to himself and just stared, amazed. The other boys stood around with dropped jaws.The shirt was almost new, the proper size and best of all, it was a Deutschland jersey.  For many of today’s refugees, the German Dream is the new American Dream. They receive letters from relatives and friends saying that Germany is the place to find good work, safely raise a family, and experience prosperity without persecution. Our Yazidi friends here in Greece diligently attend their German lessons and learn about the country in their spare time. They wait in anxious anticipation for when their applications are accepted and they can leave their metaphorical 40-year wilderness for the promised land. ...

Dahlia, (a six year old Yazidi girl that really looked more like a three year old), walked up to me limping. I looked down to see a worn out flip flop on her dirty left foot and nothing but rocks and prickly thorns under her bare right foot. She held a broken flip flop in her arms as if it were a baby. She had tears in her eyes; without shoes, she couldn’t do anything or go anywhere.   I scooped her up, set her on a bench, and set at work to fix the shoe. It took about 10 minutes to search for some twine, another 5 to find scissors, and about 30 more to actually fix the broken flip flop. After it was all said and done, I realized I spent over forty-five minutes on the project. I gave Dahlia her flip flop and she thanked me over and over again as if I just gave her the world. As she ran away, I knew perfectly well that the flip flop would break again in a day or two. I sat on the bench for a little longer and did a bit of mental math about how economically inefficient...

    During an English class for Yazidi women, I watched Khalo struggle to hold her pencil throughout the hour. All of the women were struggling - but smiling. In fact, the women were beaming with joy as they scribbled awkward letters and bulky shapes. These women weren’t discouraged by the struggle. They were just happy to hold a pencil at all. A casual observer who may have walked in off the street would see the simple scene and never think anything of it. It would have looked like any other classroom.   But to me, watching the pencil struggle was so hopeful . Just like every other woman in the room, Khalo was never allowed to go to school and certainly never learned to write.  Even tasks that are so simple and reflexive to us are so difficult for someone who's never had the chance to learn. These women have yet to develop the fine motor skills required to hold a writing utensil, but as they master pencil holding, and then literacy, their lives ar...

I’ll be honest, I have no idea how old the church was, but for the sake of a romantic sounding post, we’re going to say it was practically ancient. The paintings were done in a Byzantine style, but lets be real - they could have been done in like 2002. Nevertheless, this little big church was one of the most beautiful I’ve ever been in.   As I sat in the pews, pretending liked I was Greek Orthodox and like I actually belonged there, I was able to watch people worship. Men were lighting candles, and women were praying. My favorite thing I loved seeing was all sorts of people walking around the church, stopping in front of portraits of Jesus and kissing his feet or face. The way each person would stop reverently, fall on their knees, and gently kiss the Lord was just so beautiful.   Bishop Krister Stendahl (former presiding Lutheran bishop of Sweden and formerly of Harvard Divinity School) proposes that interfaith dialogue should, “Leave room for holy envy.” ...

I’m a firm believer in staying hydrated. So when the security at the airport makes me dump out the contents from my 40 ounce water bottle, the first thing I do when I get through the gate is find water! It still baffles me that there are no water fountains in the London, Stansted Airport (or hardly anywhere in the UK for that matter) so I decided to start asking random overpriced airport restaurants if they would fill my bottle. I particularly enjoyed one conversation while on my search: “Sir, do you know if there is anywhere I could fill my water bottle?” (Meaning, you should fill this for me… please). “ Well, darling! Anything for a girl with that American accent! I’ll fill it here,” said the middle-aged man behind the counter.   Somehow I didn’t mind that a guy that was the same age as my dad was calling me darling. I suppose his accent was pretty good too.   While filling my bottle he asked, “Now where in America are you from?” I answered, “I’m from...