Cyprus

I have been home for nearly two weeks from a short-term mission trip to Cyprus with a team from my church via International Messengers. I’ve struggled to share my experiences with the few who have asked about them so far, because trying to explain this trip is like trying to summarize a beautifully written novel. The summary does not do it justice—not even close—and I really just want to say, “Read the book.”

Also, my re-entry to real life has been bumpy. Jet lag was a lingering fog, my children punished me unwittingly with a week of whining and squabbling as they readjusted to my presence, and we opened our front yard to our church’s Summer Blast VBS each evening the first week I was home (which was the best part by far of that rough week). I was so overwhelmed that I had no time to process everything that had just happened. I hit brick walls in every direction and am just now getting my bearings back.

But what God did in Cyprus through the broken vessel of our team was rich. Humbling. Miraculous. And I will attempt to overshare glimpses of it here.

Cyprus houses thousands of refugees. Its location and neutrality attract African and Middle Eastern people fleeing from turmoil in their home countries. Many of the refugees who reach Cyprus have dreams of making a home in Europe, Canada, or the U.S., but they get stuck in the quicksand of bureaucracy and often end up staying in Cyprus much longer than they anticipated, or even indefinitely. The job market in Cyprus is oversaturated, so few of them find work, and they struggle with a life in limbo. They cannot go back home (they would be imprisoned or killed), they cannot work and make a permanent life in Cyprus, and so they wait—for years, usually—for a call from the Cyprus government to even begin the process necessary to move somewhere else. And as they wait, many EU nations are closing their doors to refugees and immigrants, and the Cyprus government and economy become increasingly bogged down by the weight of it all. Hope is scarce in this community of precious people. But hope is exactly what we wanted to hold out to them. To say I felt inadequate for this is the understatement of a lifetime. I trembled under the weight of insufficiency, coming from my cushy life that is rich in comfort and starved of suffering, to lift their burdens and offer encouragement, practical help, lasting hope. “… Who is sufficient for these things?” (2 Cor. 2:16).

About 40 Arabic-speaking refugees were selected to spend a week with us at a hotel complex outside Larnaca for an English Language Camp. They ranged in age from toddler to middle age and many came as a family. The English camp was our vehicle because it offers help with a practical skill—learning conversational English is helpful now because it’s widely spoken in Cyprus, and helpful later if and when they settle in a Western nation. But a camp like this also invites meaningful conversation and relationship-building. We all stayed at the same facility, sweat together in the heat, tried to sing in each other’s languages. We ate together and learned to converse in broken phrases, shrugs, smiles, and lots of wild gestures. It’s amazing the friendships that can be forged like that in a week.

There were three small group classes each day, as well as large group gatherings, evening crafts, free time for the kids to enjoy the pool, and plenty of time for casual conversation when the sun finally disappeared and it was cool enough to be outdoors. The culture both of Cyprus and of the Arabic-speakers at our camp comes alive at night. I was struck by how the homes in Cyprus don’t have grassy yards, but rather a tiled courtyard with outdoor seating and flowers and lights in front of each home. In the cool of the evening everyone sits outside, talking and smoking and eating. Some of the coffee shops in the area didn’t open until 4:00 in the afternoon, because that’s when social living begins. It was that way at the camp, too. Craft time started at 9:30, with ladies (sometimes men) and kids lingering over beaded bracelets or fingernail polish until midnight. Some of the week’s richest conversations took place in the late night around tables in the courtyard when the breezes were cool and defenses were lowered. I often thought of home, with our neat front laws, expansive and private backyards, and closed doors. What would it look like for us to fling wide those doors? Knock down those fences, both figurative and literal? To value community over privacy and neatness?

My favorite part of the week by far, as I’ve shared with some, was the English Reading class each day. God saw fit to place me in a group with five truly remarkable women from Egypt and Syria. My translator was a gifted young woman I am now privileged to call my friend. She and I worked beautifully in tandem all week and I came out looking like a much better teacher than I actually am because of her.

Our text for English Reading was the New Testament. Our campers came from a variety of religious backgrounds but they all knew the Bible would be a part of our curriculum for the week. Each class had a different dynamic, different flow, and unique discussion. The time I had with my ladies was that of rich discipleship. These women had backgrounds in nominal Islam or Coptic Christianity but had put their trust in Jesus as their Savior at some point, and were hungry to know more. We wept together as we read the powerful words of Christ in the gospels, and prayed for the concerns that weighed on our hearts. They asked me in-depth questions about sin, justification, the role of the Holy Spirit, and the power of grace, once even finding me after class to ask more questions. We went through the Gospel step by step on the final day of camp and just soaked in its potent truth: the weight of our sin vs. a holy God, the perfect sacrifice of Christ, his righteousness covering our shame, immeasurable grace to us—the utterly undeserving, the eternal hope we have in him. I don’t think I’ve ever experienced a more precious time of Christian fellowship.

I also got a taste of the joy of teaching the building blocks of ESL in my English class each afternoon. Verb tenses, body part names, articles of clothing, and a field trip to the supermarket to learn directions—turn right, turn left, cross the street, go straight—and name grocery items (including the ice cream cones we licked on the way home). Helping someone understand a new language is truly a beautiful process.

I wish I could share the names and detailed stories of each camper I met and befriended, but their safety depends on their anonymity and the discretion of our team. This means I can’t share names or photos of them here, but I would ask you to pray for them anyway. They have all suffered, all lost family and homes and possessions, have all been displaced, are all dependent on a wobbly government system, are all waiting waiting waiting. But now, they have all heard about the love of God, of his mercy, forgiveness, grace, and the hope we can have in him that can never be taken from us. Some believe and have found unsurpassed peace, some are questioning and unsure, but all have heard. We were able to send an English/Arabic Bible home with each family that wanted one, and our host missionaries will further the work that was begun. There is already talk of two English camps in Cyprus next year.

Thank you so much to everyone who supported me, who prayed, who loved on my husband and kids while I was away. It’s remarkable that I was even able to go to Cyprus at all. But support came at just the right time, in just the right amount, my team and I felt lifted in prayer throughout the trip, and my husband survived two weeks at home with our kids and pets with a great attitude. God was gracious to us all. To him be all glory.