So there I was...: Divided we fall

So there I was...: Divided we fall: There was a coup last week where the military attempted to overthrow the government. In multiple cities, with bridges closed by tanks and s...

Divided we fall

There was a coup last week where the military attempted to overthrow the government. In multiple cities, with bridges closed by tanks and soldiers. Many were killed and many more were wounded. The civilians, the citizens that have lived there all their lives, wouldn't stand for it. They rose up and supported their elected officials. They killed soldiers and police officers, and one could argue that they became the barbarians that they rose up to defeat in the first place. The President has continued over the last few years to chip away at some of the very freedoms that were embraced to begin with- journalists getting arrested maybe killed. Being defined as more of a dictator than anything else. Borders being guarded by armed men who have shot and killed families as they were seeking shelter from a worse hell in their own cities.
The President has detained thousands upon thousands of soldiers and police officers. The homes of many are full of families scared to leave their shelter, because of - their government? Their neighbors? Their armed forces? Who is out there? A self proclaimed militia of the people? But does that mean that the people agree with the military or the government? Is the government on your side? Or against you? The location of their homes and schools may dictate whether they are seen as likely enemies of the state. Maybe they have had discussions about the dictatorship and oppressiveness of this President. Maybe they too, like the military, felt that changes should be made. That the elected officials no longer work in service of the people, but in accordance to their own political agendas. The foreign policies of which have left their country vulnerable to attack from not one but potentially two sides of opposition forces that they have no control over.
The parents, children and young adults who have not encountered an experience like this before, they agonize over what is good and what is right. They saw their best friend get shot in the head as they were fleeing from the chaos between the military and the citizens fighting for their country. Dead. It happened to many that night. If it wasn't their best-friend it was their auto mechanic, or their high school teacher. The confusion of why and who fades away to the need to survive. Seeking shelter, you pass your neighbor but not the version of him that you have always known. He is not fearful, he is enraged, but shoots at a couple of people that were attempting to move to a safer hiding place than between 2 cars. Only one got a chance to get to safety, but the shock of watching the life leave the body in front of him, left him frozen, unmovable in that very spot..
What will the months to come bring for these people?
This was Syria, Turkey, and I beg you to imagine the possibility of it being the US. The divisive course our country in on, the embracing of hatred and the belief that your government is against you- maybe trying to take your guns, what would it take for a coup to occur here? Racial relations are worse than after the Rodney King incident in LA. If you are a minority, who do you side with if you don't side with the government? Safety in numbers? Or do you take up arms and defend to the death what is best for you and your family? Your neighborhood? Your state? If you're a black man in America, who do you side with? Anyone but the white man merely out of principle? And you, the white folk in the US- feeling persecuted for your success, your unfound fears of  Muslims, Hispanics, African Americans- who else is on your side? Anyone at all?
Now I ask you? What has had the biggest effect on the decisions of  "judgment" against our fellow man?
What has planted the seed of inequality and unjust treatment; of being used, mistreated, overly taxed, and robbed by the government; of your belief that you are more deserving than others, or maybe just that some are less deserving than you?
Your personal experiences? I doubt that to be true for the majority of Americans.
It's the Media. The media has force fed images and ideas into the mainstream that has us forming sides against each other. The doctor who has taken care of you for the last few years? He's different colored. The firefighter who has risked life and limb regardless of race, color, age, or address- he's not even originally from the US? The nurse who cared for your father- she speaks English with a thick accent? Your soldiers, that have fought to protect our country, might just be from some of those Middle Eastern Countries that you think are full of terrorists. So think about it- whether you are Trump or Clinton fans. Whether you are American or Foreign, Black or White, Man or Woman.. Is the venomous debate through a computer screen really making a change for the better? Is the bashing of someone because of who they vote for going to bring positive changes in this country? Does the media give rise to  the end all be all of pot stirrers? The answer you are looking for is yes. How about we worry more about working together towards better solutions than losing friendships over various media postings that have slanted the truth, if not out right lied, to push their agenda. Coming together for good will bring us all closer to what we all want. So I ask you to stop and listen. Stop trying to spout off reasons for not hearing. Can our concerns really be so damningly different?
Our country is not immune to treason, dissention, and attacks from within. So should we look at that possibility in an honest effort to find common ground before we find ourselves hiding between cars, locked behind doors and unable to distinguish between friend or foe?
You might be asking how?
Start with your next political conversation, your next post about the killings of black men and police. The next rant and ridicule against your government that you have every right to ridicule but also have every right to work at the city level, county level to make changes. Keep your finger pointed to yourself, because if you cannot find a place of peace and compassion inside of you, you will never find it in someone else.

I say enough already

I walked under a weeping willow tonight- I felt the heaviness of my worries, sadness and anger. So many things going on in the lives of those I care about. It was a beautiful night. It's easy for me to say that. I am cocooned by the certain anonymity of my life. I can enjoy the simplicity of a clear sky and lightening bugs. I have no worries in the grand scheme of things. Are these wrinkles starting to freak me out? Hell yes-ish. But, when I peel away social expectations, they don't bother me at all.  I come from a small family, a small town, and even though I was not raised in any certain way, be it Catholic, Christian, atheist, etc... I hold some things to be unwavering truths. Clearly written in stone. Black and white.

The rape of another person is wrong. There is not a position in society, or a color of skin that should ever give that a free pass. There are no circumstances, conditions, or assumptions that make rape ok. 

That goes for every age, every sex, every culture. Rape as a weapon of war- apparently being done in our own military, should be considered more than a war crime. It is NOT ok. It is not deserved by any woman, man or child. It is NOT. It is not morally acceptable for Giants to crush ants just because they are bigger, and just because they can do it and get something out of it. If you take advantage of people because of what you have and they don't- you are raping them of something- maybe a job, money, education, maybe credit where credit is deserved. If it is not yours- it is not yours to take just because you can.

Abusing children falls under this category. Children are to be protected. Any sick, twisted, person, especially parent, that makes their child perform sexual acts with animals, should be put to death. There should be no concerns about "vocabulary" and "definitions"- the violation of the sacred relationship that SHOULD exist between a parent and a child, should be punished. The punishment should fit the crime- not be debated over because of historical language. When will it be okay for the average man and woman to stand up and say enough is enough?? Who is fighting for those kids?

If you have guns in your home, and the consequence is the accidental death of a child or family member- then guess what- you should be held responsible. When will common sense prevail? When will people be held accountable? You thought it was funny that your 4 year old took a picture pointing a gun and throwing up gang signs- then laugh when that child at 16 kills someone, or gets killed by someone because he was made to live and "be" beyond his years. Your child? Your punishment. Under age- means parental responsibility. If you can't get control of your child then you might look and see if you even have your own shit together. Stop letting kids watch violent movies. You have the right to say no. Stop letting children watch shows or movies with sexual content in them.. if you don't think it hurts them, then I ask you to take a look around at the world we are living in and say "Do you really think it helps?" Do children even enjoy childhood anymore? Are they allowed to become bored and whiney because there's nothing to do? Are they allowed to be told they can only watch 2 stations on cable? Are they allowed to have their TV time limited? YES. yes. Yes. YES. For the love of all that is good and right- look around you. How are you living? Keeping to yourself and your family. Not intruding on anyone else, even though you might suspect something is wrong? It is our fault. OUR fault that this world is becoming unsafe for children, women, the elderly and the poor. Where are the real men in this world? Where are the men that are showing up and standing up for their wives, their daughters, their sons. Why aren't we celebrating them? 

It sickens me. People would rather be politically correct than morally responsible. Who is your judge and your jury? Your government? The criminal justice system that allowed OJ Simpson to go free? Or pretty boy Brock- who only gets a few months in jail, when it's all said and done? If you're happy that the US Government supplies you with your moral code than I say- how about aiming higher? How about standing up for what is right? Our citizens who have volunteered to protect this country should never go to sleep hearing the traffic on the bridge above them. WE, as the benefactors to the services they provided should not look away because they are addicted, and/or mentally ill. No one ever said freedom was going to be pretty. And look at what they have fought for- what do you see?

Look closer--- can't pinpoint it? It's an apathetic society unconcerned about how their lifestyle is actually possible. Ungrateful. Arrogant. And I hate to lay it on the line like this- but we are going to get what we deserve. A government who considers soldiers expendable- who do you think they will throw under the bus when the soldiers run out? How will this world fair when society actually debates over the lives of a child and a gorilla? Have we nothing better to fight for? You're voting for Trump- great. Clinton- fantastic... How about we start giving a shit about our neighbors, our cities, our states- putting as much effort into our communities as we do with our foul mouthed, name calling, and offensively arrogant judgments of the people who vote opposite of us. We are our own worst enemy. But let's go ahead and treat each other like bullies on a playground so that the real issues get handled. Because that has always shown to be an effective way to run a society.

Is living every day minding my own business good enough? No. For me it is not good enough. There are things that I can do. There is an impact I can make. There are so many people in need. Yes- there are many who abuse that privilege- but standing by and doing nothing isn't an answer to that dilemma. 

Doing nothing is certainly not working. 

I'm sorry but I'm deleting you- It's not you, it's me.

In 3 months, I will be 40.
I want the next half of my life to be different. More accurately, I want the next 20 years of my life to be different. The last 20 years have been fabulous. Absolutely across the board, even the most horrible parts. It's actually the last decade that most of those horrible parts took place.
Sitting on the verge of 40, I realize life isn't meant to be a Facebook post. That entertainment held in my palm will only leave me empty handed. My mind and my body have suffered from this need to preserve my milestones and mishaps on social media. I find myself checking my phone. Which is funny, because no one calls anymore. Like when I was in high school and would pick up the receiver to make sure there was a dial tone and that the phone was actually working- in case someone special might be trying to call me. Now, we look up from our phones to make sure we don't run into things, that no one is trying to get our attention, or if the stop light turns green.
No offense to my friend's list- but there are few and far between any people on it that I really want to be sharing my life with, or more importantly should be sharing my life with. My closest people are bunched in with a lot of acquaintances and their importance to me becomes greatly diminished in a newsfeed of unimportant, trivial, and misinformed posts.
I have been an irrelevant peeping Tom in so many people's lives, that I have forgotten to keep my deepest friends and family relevant to my life.
My infatuation with inspirational videos, memes, and juicy gossip is going to continue, but only with people that I would feel comfortable giving a totally authentic hug to the next time I see them. I want rich relationships. Personal and important. So for almost all of you I am saying goodbye. I wish you well and pray for your health and happiness. Remember- don't believe everything you see or read on the internet, being small minded keeps your life small, and most importantly, don't forget to look up and interact with your world.
I must go- there is a bookshelf with 20 or more books that I haven't read, hikes I haven't taken, and an unknown number of amazing people I haven't even met.
May peace be with you-
Brooke

The plight of a refugee is the plight of humanity- Leros, Greece

There are many times, too many to count, in my life that I have heard and told no one, that I have seen and said nothing, and that I have watched and done nothing. In every heart breaking instant there was a choice. Still, on the Island of Leros in the South Aegean Sea, these heart breaking moments certainly continue. The moments are different than the moments we see on an average day on an average street that we frequent in the comfort of our neighborhood, our town, our state, our country. Certainly racism, sexism, ageism exist universally. In a half square block of space, called “Camp”, occupied by various nationalities- Syrian, Afghani, Iranian, Algerian, Moroccan, British, American, Dutch, Swedish, Greek, and more – peace existed in the hope of having enough. Enough time, enough money, enough sleep, enough food, enough shelter, enough hope. The haves and the have nots become somewhat blurred. Volunteers working to find enough warm jackets, water, food, and shelter for these refugees. The refugees hoping to just keep moving forward with enough momentum to see them to their new homeland.  Needing enough warm clothes for the entire family, needing enough people with open minds, hearts, and lives to continue to make the long journey even possible.

These women and children, families and young men want what we want. More accurately, want what we have; an average day, on an average street, in a safe neighborhood, in a safe town, in a country they can call home. Their home country, that they love and that every one of them hopes to return to someday, is imploding. I heard of a young man who was going about his usual morning routine on his way to work, you know- stop at a sidewalk kiosk and get coffee and smokes… but one particular day he just turned and went into the café instead. Stepping into the café by about 2 steps, his familiar sidewalk kiosk blew up. He tells of remembering himself laying on the floor covered in broken glass, blood, and rubbish. He didn’t know if he had any “holes” in him. After he and a few other survivors helped the wounded get out from around the dead, or more accurately pieces of the dead, he went to work. He sat down in his chair and thanked God for saving him.

The best analogy that I came up with to describe what is going on in Syria is actually inspired by the ‘The Walking Dead’.  If you haven’t watched the show, don’t worry, I will explain it without the need to have.     There comes a point in time where even the good guys have to become bad guys, if they want to survive. This survival mechanism is adapted in various, uncountable ways (which is why the show will continue almost endlessly). There are the main characters of the show and then there are other living folks that they always come upon on their journey (to who knows where for who knows what). One such group had an interesting philosophy- you are either the butcher or the cow. The people, let’s call them group 1, had been previously rounded up and used for whatever whim the other living folks, group 2 had. All whims perpetrated were generally crimes against humanity, up to and including death.  Thus, group 1 took to overtaking group 2, vowing to never be taken to “slaughter” again. So when new people arrived to their compound, such as the main characters of the show, group 1 was sure to be the butchers and not the cows. Kill or be killed. Sound familiar? In Syria, there are various butchers attached to various “meat markets” for lack of a better description. It seems the whole country exists of butchers. Kill or be killed. At least, that is what is portrayed. The cows don’t want any part of any of the meat markets because number one they are vegetarian and number two none of the meat markets run a reputable, honest, humane business that the cows believe in. Most herds of cows tried going unnoticed, laying low in the shade, just doing everyday cow stuff. Living under the radar didn’t work really. Groups of cows ended up getting together to fight against the butchers, in effect becoming butchers themselves. The various meat markets believed that only THEIRS should exist. So, butchers went about killing off other butchers as well as any cows that were in the path.  There are even butchers coming from other areas of the world, because they want to support the meat market of their liking. Many of the cows have been killed, as have many of the butchers. Cows that could be of use to the government meat market will be forced to be butchers. The supply seemed unlimited; until the cows decided to jump over the moon, by becoming refugees seeking asylum anywhere that offers them safety for themselves and their families (not a theme in the Walking Dead of course). Cows are of all ages, economic status, education, gender, and religion. They are students, doctors, firemen, mothers, fathers, and criminals. None are perfect and they do not claim to be. They had only a few things in common: wanting to leave and wanting to live. Butchers force the military aged males to the frontline. Unless they can pay the fee (which changes at the whim of the government or even the fee collector, sorry I mean butchers). Even if the fee is paid, it is paid only to buy a window of time to leave Syria. If that window closes, then the cows become butchers or worse.

In a ridiculously over-simplified and under imaginative way- this is how I understand the climate in Syria, and some other parts of the Middle East, to be at this time.

I am not writing this as an exact fact of every detail. I am writing from what I have seen and heard, from the people who have lived it. None of this worried me when I felt pulled to go to Greece to help. I was as certain as the sky is blue that just going would be my protection. Probably sounds weird but let me explain. Refugees from various Middle Eastern countries are seeking asylum in countries that will open their borders- Germany, England, Sudan, Lebanon, Jordan, etc. The people have so little with them. Only what they can carry in bags and unfortunately what their minds continue to carry for them. Being with these people in need, even if they are terrorists taking the long way around, they gain nothing by harming those along their path. What is the use of terrorizing, on an island, with no escape but the sea? I wasn’t worried. Sometimes my mind works down the simplest path possible.  

I got a call from the organizers on the day I was going to take the ferry to Leros, saying that Doctors without Borders and Greece’s emergency medical group, Praxis, had gotten to Leros and took over all the medical care. Long story short- I wasn’t really going to be needed as a nurse for the entire length of my stay. In reality, only one night of my stay on the island was spent in some resemblance of a medical fashion. I was offered the opportunity to be connected with the organizers on Lesbos but I declined and headed to Leros anyway.

I arrived at 0430 which was a bit disorienting to me. The coordinator, Anna, as well as two other women met me at the boat. This was Saturday morning and after a short nap they showed me around the small area in the city of Lakki that was processing and caring for the refugees. It wasn’t much, maybe a half a block. The Camp was sandwiched between 2 rectangular shaped buildings. The front building held the donations and was called “Storage”- the back building had the 2 boutiques that the refugees would “shop” in to get proper clothes, shoes, and jackets. The front building looked as if it was last used in World War II. The back building looked like the skeleton twin of the front building: windows broken or just plain missing, without doors, mold of green, black and other colors- in the US it would probably meet criteria for being condemned. There was a fenced area that the refugees had to go into to be processed properly by the border police and then they would eventually get out into Camp. All rock covered ground, with rows of “tents” (maybe 10 x 14 hard plastic huts) that would be allocated to the refugees on arrival. All in all the Camp was able to accommodate 300 refugees comfortably, 350 pretty snuggly, and 400 in a pinch. Within 24 hours of my arrival there were over 900 refugees in Camp.  

The arrival on Leros is different than the arrivals frequently seen on the news with the rafts of refugees landing on the island of Lesbos. Either way, refugees went through Turkey to get to one or the other. I imagine the trip through Turkey to be akin to the Underground Railroad that slaves used here in the US. In the dark of night a guy tells you to quickly go stand across the road and get in the bus/truck/car that stops to pick you up. Then you hide out waiting with others that you know are there, many you see and many that go unseen. Until you hear “run, run, run” and your group gets into the raft. A raft meant for 35 bombarded by 60 or more. Taking off into the dark night surrounded by dark water, and being left by the captain of your raft to fend for yourself whenever he gets picked up by another boat. Human trafficking, otherwise known as the “journey of death” by some refugees, at its best. Some refugees are prepared for this experience- knowing to watch the weather and the tide, having the GPS on their phones up and running, and learning how to remain calm over all. Knowing to go with the current and not against the waves- saves those who knew. Refusing to go in overloaded boats and being patient for the right circumstances. The kiss of death for these rafts is the taking on of water. Too many people weighing down the raft with too many waves from rough seas and running into rocks that punctured holes in the rafts- these caused the rafts to sink. Lifejackets cannot save a person from crashing waves repeatedly holding them down, at least they cannot save the life, but maybe the body.

We all know about the 4000+ refugees drowning in those dark waters. I had the honor of talking to a group of men from the British Royal Navy who were aboard the Vos Grace- a large boat that has some other specific duty that does not consist of the search and rescue of these “shipwrecks”, but was put into service for that very purpose. The morgue on the Vos Grace had reached capacity more than once from what I gathered from hearing the various stories. The problem wasn’t in finding the dead, it was in identifying them. One gentleman talked of having to bring in the mothers to identify their deceased infants. Infants that had been in the water for many hours. More than life was missing from some.  I’m not sure Stephen King could even describe such a horrific scene. I asked myself what would be worse- being able to identify my baby- or not being able to. This same gentleman told me that on one particular night as he was trying to sleep, he just couldn’t get the image of a deceased infant in an adult body bag out of his mind. It clawed at him until he went to the morgue, took the infant out of the adult bag and wrapped the child in a blanket and placed them on top “because babies are not supposed to be in body bags.”

If the rafts of refugees made it to the island of Farmakinisii (I have no idea how to spell it- and not sure if that’s the island’s name or the Greek military base’s name) they were greeted with a biscuit, water and any piece of ground they could find suitable to lay their bodies on. No blankets. No shelter. Refugees would burn lifejackets to get warm. The fumes of which made them sick and whose damage, I fear, will be long lasting. Weather permitting the refugees would be ferried over to Leros, once the boat or boats were available. There was a 16 day old, an elderly man that required a wheelchair, women in all stages of pregnancy and every age in between. All in some form of shock or possibly complete and utter denial. Once they were allowed to disembark the boat they got to stand in a line. Not unlike cattle now that I think about it. Eventually they would be escorted to Camp. Blankets were handed out, small snacks, a mat to put between their already beaten bodies and the ground, waiting to be let out of this tragic nightmare that was just another day on their journey.

I felt useless in a way. I couldn’t speak anyone’s language, including the Brits if they really got to going. So I did the next best thing. I started using Google Translate on my phone. I could talk into it and pick which language I wanted it to translate to- it felt a little Star Trek-ish and was time consuming, but it was better than nothing. When they talked back in Arabic or French or whatever- it would translate it to me in English. It was a huge win in my book, but Abdullah was a God send. A Syrian, 25 years old, Abdullah could connect me to those I was trying to communicate with. He did not just translate the words we spoke, he reflected our worries and concerns. They trusted me, because they trusted him, and that trust built a bridge between all of us involved.

I remember meeting Abdullah on that second night of chaos. He appeared to be translating for his family, what Charlotte (who spoke what I considered to be great Arabic- as if I have any authority to say that) was trying to tell them. Charlotte, a 21 year old French-British Cameron Diaz looking girl, was the volunteer heading up the logistics of putting people in huts, tents, etc. or in this case finding anyplace even remotely useful as a place to lay their heads. I always seemed to be interrupting her with the most ridiculous of questions that I just couldn’t get answers for- like, where do we get more blankets? Everyone would patiently and gracefully pardon my interruption while I got an answer and another task to take care of.  It might have been the second interruption or the 22^nd, I can’t remember but I realized Abdullah was translating for everyone. He followed me after being given an errand and said “Let me help you.”  Which of course my first response was “Oh no that’s ok. Have you eaten? Do you have everything you need?” Which may or may not have been answered when a young family stopped me and were in obvious need of an important answer. Google Translate would be like dial up whereas Abdullah was high speed and guess which was more preferred? I thanked him after the questions were answered and he said “It is no problem. I want to help.” It only took me 2 days and a bazillion attempts to get his name right. After the 2^nd night, or was it the 3^rd, I took a day off.

The average day of a volunteer doesn’t exist. The days usually start with a volunteer meeting at 0900 to see who is available to do what and with that number of people, what exactly could get done? The feeding of bottled fed children was its own warhorse. Sterilizing bottles, getting the right amount of the right formula to the right child, 4 times throughout the day. The prep was done by volunteers and the families did the feeding. There was the general operations of the boutique- getting the donated clothing items on tables in some sort of type and size that could be looked through quickly, as well as the replacement of those items, as they got lower and lower over the course of the day. Trying to stay ahead of the needs of the next refugee family coming through the boutique doors, the “runner” would shuttle bags from storage to the boutique on a pretty continuous basis. There were volunteers that helped hand out meals and volunteers that helped with sorting in storage. And on it went. And then, on some more.

There were other jobs to be done as well. The Villa, a building off of the block, was an area reserved for the most vulnerable women and children, and Pik-pa was an area off the block for the most vulnerable families. I never got to any of these places- there seemed to be jobs better suited for the more short- term volunteers and those didn’t really include these other areas.

Around 3:00 pm, another meeting of the volunteers got together with those doing the “late shift”- 5pm to 11 pm. A general idea of a plan would be made and life in the Camp moved on in a constant state of adaptation to the current needs required at the time.

Children began to laugh, run, play and chase. Smiles crossed faces and spaces and devastation segued into breathing a bit easier. The refugees walked the harbor when the sun was up and the winds were warm and calm. The small island town of Lakki got a much needed boost to their economy by those eating and shopping in their establishments, volunteers and refugees alike. Clowns without Borders visited and boosted the spirits of the Camp. The only thing left to do was wait for the ferry and the papers that gave the refugees the right to get on it.

Abdullah traveled with his brother. They had become a small circle of people that would gravitate towards each other during meals, announcements, and the like. Abdullah himself was constantly being asked to help out with translating and by the end of his stay on Leros, he was probably known by everyone. On my day off, I took my laundry to get done and wandered into a bakery where I bought a bottle of water and what looked like an éclair. At the last minute, I got 2 eclairs. When I stepped out of the bakery, I saw Abdullah walking down the sidewalk, earbuds in, relaxed.

I gave my extra éclair to him and we walked around, up and down, the many little streets in Lakki and even further toward the center of the island. We talked a lot about God, blessings, faith, and hope. He described what living in Damascus had been like and what it had turned into. He talked about missing his parents and his nieces and nephews.  He reminded me of myself when I was 25, and perhaps even myself now, since the years in between have been said and done. I guess the best word would be hopeful.

As I woke up to continue this blog post this morning, I’ve read gut-wrenching news about refugees and volunteers being treated like – I can’t even find the words. I can’t seem to hear my thoughts through my tears. I can’t convey to you the madness that is happening. I sit here in absolute fear and anguish seeing that the nightmare is real- volunteers and refugees are now being treated like criminals. By assisting sinking boats, Spanish lifeguards are arrested for human trafficking. How is saving lives a crime? Someone please tell me. They opened the borders and now those borders are becoming walls. Walls that I fear will make the Berlin wall, and all that it stood for, look like playground equipment. Those inside Syria in areas under siege are being starved. Refugees caught in the purgatory of no longer being in Greece but not yet in Germany are facing imprisonment/detainment/ abandonment- the options seem bleak and none are what was being offered to the refugees when the borders were opened.

I say this here and now- terrorism did not cause this- the media gorging on society’s fears of terrorism did. Ask yourself who is controlling the media and in 100 years the next generations will tell you what they gained from it.

Abdullah was last with the Red Cross at the Macedonian border. That was Saturday. There is only silence now where his updates used to come through. Every time I look at my phone I say a prayer that he will be there.

In between the anxious thoughts and useless worry, I feel a force that steadies me. I want to kick, yell and scream at all the injustice I see, real and imagined- the needs of the people are hard to tear my eyes, my heart and my soul away from but yet I surrender to the stillness. There, in quiet sorrow, He comforts me and He hears my prayers in every tear drop.

For my fellow people of faith, I offer up these verses to you:

Book of Daniel: verses from chapters 11 and 12    “The king will do as he pleases. He will exalt and magnify himself above every god and will say unheard of things against the God of gods. He will be successful until the time of wrath is completed, for what has been determined must take place. He will show no regard for the gods of his ancestors or for the one desired by women, nor will he regard any god, but exalt himself above them all.

“At the time of the end the king of the South will engage him in battle, and the king of the North will storm out against him with chariots and cavalry and a great fleet of ships. He will invade many countries and sweep through them like a flood. He will also invade the Beautiful Land. Many countries will fall, but Edom, Moab and the leaders of Ammon will be delivered from his hand. He will extend his power over many countries: Egypt will not escape. He will gain control of the treasures of gold and silver and all the riches of Egypt, with the Libyans and Cushites (people from the upper Nile region) in submission. But reports from the east and the north will alarm him, and he will set out in a great rage to destroy and annihilate many. He will pitch his royal tents between the seas at the beautiful holy mountain. Yet he will come to his end and no one will help him. At the end time Michael, the great prince who protects your people, will arise. There will be a time of distress such as has not happened from the beginning of nations until then. But at that time your people- everyone whose name is found written in the book- will be delivered. Multitudes of people who sleep in the dust of the earth will awake: some to everlasting life, others to shame an everlasting contempt. Those who are wise will shine like the brightness of the heavens, and those who lead many to righteousness, like the stars for ever and ever. But you, Daniel, roll up and seal the words of the scroll until the time of the end. Many will go here and there to increase knowledge.”

We will not know the day- but we should live as if it is today.

The least of these-

Tonight will be my first night working in "Camp". Working 11p-7a. I arrived at 0435 today and it already feels like it's been days here. The group I am with are being responsible and resting up for the night ahead. After a few hours of almost sleeping, I decided to get up and see if I could watch the sunset from the docks. Here in Lakki (name of the city) on Leros Island, the shoreline of the harbor is clean, quiet and the sidewalk is dotted with various benches. It is not a beach town but it is beautiful. What I never realized when hearing about the Greek economy and the government going bankrupt (if that is technically what happened I do not know, it's just my understanding at this point) workers are not getting paid. Government workers, transportation workers, military, police .... I'm not sure how far reaching it goes, but what is usually considered "on Greek time", is much, much worse. There are so many empty store fronts, abandoned buildings. Skeleton in appearance, as I expect most island destinations look when winter comes, if the island is not in the tropics.
Walking on the sidewalk, or boardwalk as it is on the water, I see a boat being untied from one of the tie outs along the way. As I looked across the harbor I understood why it was not at the real dock. It was not a real boat compared to the monstrosity of a cargo boat was coming in to the "real dock". As I passed the little boat and I hear it get started up, I imagined how incredibly seasick I would be in that boat. Then the damn thing blew it's horn and I about stroked out from the fright it gave me. I've always been a bit jumpy anyway. This was a whole new level.
The big cargo boat was apparently parallel parking at the docks, and now that it had pulled around I saw the name of it "Vos Grace". I realized it's cargo would be the 400 refugees that were expected to come from the military island of Farmakinesae (I have not googled how to properly spell that). A far cry from the luxury Blue Star Ferry that I had taken from Athens. I took my pictures of the sunset that seemed to be rushing behind the two hillsides protecting the entrance to the harbor, when I notice a cat sniffing at my coffee cup that I sat on the ledge of some forgotten ledge to nowhere. Her 2 kittens peered out from behind the shelter of a forklift with a flat tire. Momma kitty had a sad, almost desperate cry as she followed me closer to the water. I know that this was probably just me projecting my desperation onto her. I feel so desperate to help. In this 30 minutes of walking to the dock and back to the sidewalk outside of Camp, nothing was really happening around the Vos. I sat down on some concrete thing that was not a bench and was not a tie out, but it made a good enough seat. I prayed. God had put the call into my heart to come here. He aligned the stars and those near to me to make this trip happen almost effortlessly. I just felt a little disconnected from that purpose at that moment. "Show me" was all I kept thinking. Show me why you brought me here.
The view of the part of the boat that the refugees were exiting from was mostly obstructed. Unfortunately, the long, single file line was forming towards the gates of the reception area. All different shapes and sizes. There was no luggage being pulled behind them like the 100's of people that got off the ferry with me. The light of the evening pressed down enough to show the general outline of the folks. Nothing more. The visual instantly made me think about those who had watched a similar situation. Instead of exiting a boat, they were entering a train. Instead of a refugee camp, a concentration camp. The irony that Germany figures into both situations did not escape me. I would tell you that the cool wind made my eyes water, but I would be lying.
The line of displaced souls stopped moving and so I decided to move along. I went back to one of the two places to eat in Lakki. It was named 7 Gates and it was the best wi-fi in town apparently. I sat down near a young woman who had a chunky cherub of a baby girl on her lap. The baby was happy as can be with her oatmeal yumminess. Extra cute was the little bit that formed a mustache. Is not it the case that babies make the best ice breakers and conversation starters? The little one's name was Chaplin (like Charlie, her mom said- also ironic that she had the same mustache as her namesake). Her Mom spoke English perfectly, with a hint of an accent. From Sweden, her and her husband had been on the island for 2 months. He worked for the United Nation's branch for Refugee aid. The Camp was built by this group.
As we talked, she said that the arrivals that just docked would make 400 for the day; the good weather encouraged the Greeks to do a mass exodus of the refugees off of Farmakinesae. The Camp accommodates 300 refugees, 350 tightly squeezed. I have in mind just how busy our night was going to be. I am not going to tell you Mom's name, as I did not ask permission. I know, I know. But I'm using her baby's name. It is what it is at the moment.
I mentioned the weather, as it is a good prediction of how many refugees show up and she added that any day without a shipwreck was a good day. My obvious question was "Does that happen very often?" You can imagine the unfortunate answer.
She began to tell me about the weeks of Christmas and New Years. "We lost many, many people. Most of them children."
My next obvious question was how did the ships wreck- and so a translation is needed here..ship = raft. Almost 100% were caused by the taking on of water. Whether by stormy seas or the appearance of a deadly hole in the raft, the results were equally horrifying.
The week of Christmas, there was a raft that sank. On arrival to camp. a young woman that had been rescued from the water befriended Mrs. UN, and shared her story. Mrs. UN can speak Arabic, so she gets a lot of attention. The Syrian woman, a mother of 4, was fleeing with her children, her mother, her husband and her brother-in-law. There were only so many life jackets but even that did not save her children, as the waves were too strong for their small frames. She was the only adult that survived. She was able to keep a hold of her youngest baby, just a month older than Chaplin. The young woman knew that her baby, in her arms, died about 4 hours before she was rescued. She had no one. There was no one left from her life. The conditions in Syria are so bad that this possibility, losing your family or even yourself, was a risk worth taking. The bodies of these fleeing lost souls were retrieved from the water. Or, as in Turkey just yesterday, the bodies wash up onto the shore (37 in this particular case).
Then, like a light bulb, it registered why I was here (one of the reasons anyway). I am here to write this tragedy into being, bringing it into a human form. Sharing the grief of the refugees, the volunteers and the Greek natives on this island.
I ask that you share this post. Every news clip and internet article I've read or watched has this political air to it. The reality could not be further from the truth. One million refugees fled in 2015. There are 2 million more trying to escape. These are families just like the ones we've all come from. So many are voiceless or silenced by whatever media agenda is the favorite of the day.
Fear of isis (I do not believe they deserve capital letters) and Islamic extremists attacking from their version of the Trojan Horse, is abundant in the US. The collapse of Europe has been suggested from one of my own family members. I'm of the opinion that it will not be the acceptance of refugees into the European nations, or even our own, that will cause mass destruction. It will be the refusal of them that will. Martin Luther King, Jr. said it best "You can not destroy hate with hate. Only love can do it."
Or better yet, Jesus Christ who said in John 13:34, A new command I give you: Love one another.

January 4, 2016

So here I am, after months and months (and months) of not posting to this blog, needing a place to speak on some important issues. I have been cheating on this blog by writing another one.  Thrive in Gratitude was the blog I started after a little come to Jesus meeting I encountered in December 2014.

My inspiration for the following is spurred on by the too numerous to count articles that go something like this- '15 things women need to do before they are 40'; '20 things I learned in my 20's'; 'Why your 30's will be your best decade ever'.

As a woman, I feel like 90% of articles read like a grocery list. I'm pretty sure the 10 best moves to have a bikini body never worked. I'm absolutely certain that the top 5 fat burning foods haven't been all that was promoted of them either. And for the record, there has not been one resolution, New Year's, or otherwise that I have ever kept.

It's petty. All of these notions of generational wisdom and split second self improvement are toxic.
Let's face it- there are no 2 lives, regardless of what generation they are or are not in, that are full of the same struggles and supposed growth and knowledge that has come from the triumph over said struggles. And if there is ever a resolution to have, it would be to STOP READING BEAUTY/FITNESS/GLAMOUR MAGAZINES. They are the most passive aggressive bullshit slingers you'll ever encounter.

Take a step back for a minute. Pan out from the lens of your life's video recorder and look around. Do you see all those men who walked off the cover of GQ magazine? No you don't. So, why in the hell are you putting yourself up in comparison to some extreme standard that even the models have to be airbrushed to make. Aren't you over it, all that self inflicted soul crushing negative talk that seems to ramble on continuously in your brain? Don't you just want to say 'Shut Up already'?

Now, take a huge leap back from yourself and forward in time. Maybe it's only been a few months that you've spent time with the bitch in your brain, but I'd bet it's been a very complicated long term relationship. So, 2 years, 5 years from now- are you still going to be listening to the biggest liar you know? Are you still going to be held down by the fact that you're not a multi-million dollar making model, who still gets airbrushed? More importantly, are you still going to be living your life on that small of a scale? Folding in on your life instead of expanding? (Shut up. no I did not mean your waistline). The world is passing by and you're on a self loathing treadmill, riding a pity train through the life that you don't really find fulfilling anyway. What in the hell for?

I met a woman, 100 years old mind you, and her son, 67 years old, today at Panera Bread. She talked about their travels when they went around the world. Around the WORLD, not the block, or the USA, the freaking WORLD. Her favorite place was Kenya (Africa keeps calling to me!) and he found it hard to narrow down. Rio for partying he said. Sri Lanka was a favorite and when it came up that I was traveling to Greece they both enjoyed telling me how they had gotten so drunk on Red Zenith when on a greek island, that they looked just like those 2 drunks you always see in the movies, with elbows interlocked, swaying and singing all the way back to the hotel. I don't know how old the duo was on their amazing adventure of world travel, but I could tell it lived in them. Adventure that is. I asked how they afforded such a wonderful lifestyle to take the trip and the time. He said they lived cheap and traveled cheap. They both loved being in the world so much that having a simple life was part of the joy.

I would like to point out that neither of them said that they got some great advice from a to-do list in a magazine. Neither of them said they worked super hard to get in the best shape, have the best job, and the perfect hair before their journies. What they did do was sponsor an African family in Kenya with 6 children, and put them all through school. Visiting the family in Africa and sharing in their lives made the simple life they lived feel extravagant. Two of the African children are now living in Florida. What an impact this family has had on theirs.

I have lived a lot of years, A LOT of years, full of disgust for myself. Life was generally easy and carefree, but the longer I listened to the bitch in my brain, the more I struggled with depression. Until I couldn't even stand taking my next breath. How sad to have lost so many lifetimes in those years. I know that the biggest changes came when I started being grateful, for everything. Seeing the beauty of life in some of the ugliest places. I've been lucky to have the nursing profession as a form of therapy. Helping others, caring for others, giving to others of yourself, these things can affect a person's mood. Do these things on purpose, and it will change your life. Stop trying to be perfect and start being happy. If you don't know what makes you happy, which I didn't really know, until I stopped being so "self-centered", then I suggest you take a long look in the mirror and acknowledge the person looking back at you, because you haven't spent enough time taking care of her. She may even seem like a foreigner. If you're looking at your reflection and you don't see someone you love, I humbly suggest you find ways to figure out why. I'm a strong believer in therapy. It's some of the best money I've ever spent. Your life will suck until you like, if not love, the person you are living it as.
I have one other nugget of advice- live for something bigger than you. I'm not talking on the level of your husband, children, family, I'm talking about something that breaks your heart and punches you in the gut when you hear about it. Those things, those passions, are where your humanity lives and giving of your time, energy, prayer, money, whatever, will have a positive, lasting ripple effect in your life. In your well-being and happiness.

Happy January 4th. May you let your heart rule your brain and not some bitch.
Love,
Brooke