Go Beyond

Amman, Jordan

The writers of the psalms understood what it meant to be in trouble. “How long, O Lord, will you look on?” David cried out. “Rescue me from their destruction, my precious life from the lions!” (Psalm 35:17). I love the Book of Psalms. There are times when the psalms speak to us. And there are times when the psalms speak for us — times when we are in such utter distress that we must borrow the language of the psalms to cry out to God.

Many of the displaced Iraqi Christian refugees have adopted the language of the psalms. I can hear the ancient voice of the psalmist every time I sit to listen to their stories. These distressed individuals understandably have questions about the evil they have experienced, the loss they have suffered, and why the wicked seem to triumph at their expense. And so these troubled waters that lie deep in the well of their hearts eventually surface in the bucket of speech.

Who can fault these distressed refugees for their questions, confusions, and complaints? We do the same thing when we are in trouble. There is something about us that wants to know why we experience troubles and when we will be delivered from those troubles. There is something about us that longs to make sense out of it all, wondering how the dark threads of our lives can possibly make sense in the tapestry God is weaving.

As I listened to one elderly woman complain this week I affirmed that it was ok for her to do so. After all, in the words of the psalmist, God remembers that we are fragile creatures of dust (Psalm 103:14). He can handle our complaints while He works out His purposes in our lives. One thing is certain, that although we may never fully know the “why” of our troubles on this side of heaven, we will ultimately understand the “why” when we finally get to heaven.

I told this troubled woman about my visit to the home of Corrie ten Boom in 1996. I explained that Corrie and her family had provided a hiding place for Jews during the Second World War — something that eventually resulted in the loss of her entire family in concentration camps. Our guide showed us a needlepoint that Corrie had stitched and later framed. “It was her favorite piece,” he said as he pointed to what appeared to be a chaos of threads behind the glass of the frame.

But then, he turned the frame over to reveal what, to my surprise, were the words to “The Weaver,” a poem I had memorized years earlier. No wonder Corrie eventually forgave those who had killed her family. The words of this little poem make a lot of sense.

My life is but a weaving,
Between my Lord and me.
I cannot choose the colors
He worketh steadily.

Oft times He weaveth sorrow
And I, in foolish pride,
Forget He sees the upper,
And I the underside.

Not till the loom is silent
And the shuttles cease to fly,
Shall God unroll the canvas
And explain the reasons why

The dark threads are as needful
In the Weaver’s skillful hands,
As the threads of gold and silver
In the pattern He has planned.

This has indeed been an emotional week for those of us who have visited in the homes of Iraqi Christians displaced from their homes by ISIS, the very embodiment of evil. One woman sighed as she asked, “What can we do? What can we do?” She understood that she was powerless to retaliate or to make things as they were before ISIS disrupted her life. And then she answered her own question, “We can trust in God.” And indeed we should. He alone can take the dark threads of our lives and use them to make something beautiful.

Amman, Jordan

The violent history of ISIS goes much deeper than the selected reports we hear on the evening news. For every person that these über-violent terrorists have publicly beheaded, thousands of others continue to suffer in silence — their lives forever damaged when ISIS came near. ISIS has shown the world the ultimate end of a worldview that has absolutely no regard for the sanctity of all human life. Their impoverished worldview has wreaked havoc and left a trail of wrecked lives.

This afternoon my team and I visited an elderly widow named Miriam and her 45 year-old daughter, Janan. As ISIS approached their little home in Mosul, they were forced to flee along with thousands of other Christian families. This task was made even more difficult for Miriam because her daughter is blind and disabled and they had no one to help them. Miriam and her wheelchair-bound daughter soon found themselves alone on the streets of Mosul.

Miriam and Janan were beyond frightened. Thankfully, a man driving a big truck spotted them and offered to transport them to Erbil. He struggled to get the women into the back of his truck. “We felt like goats,” said Miriam with tears in her eyes, “but were thankful for a way out of Mosul.” When they arrived in Erbil, they could find no place to stay in this city made even more crowded by the influx of people from Mosul. Things looked hopeless.

Finally, the truck driver said he knew of only one remaining option — a shady brush arbor at the local cemetery. So, he drove the women there and dropped them off. Miriam and Janan would spend the next month living alone among the dead. Eventually a priest happened by the cemetery and arranged for the women to travel to Amman. Today, these two women live in a small flat with no source of income. Our local partners arranged to help them with their rent and groceries.

Our time with Miriam and Janan was very emotional. They both wept the entire time we were with them. Miriam recently broke her foot trying to help her daughter to the toilet. Janan, who lost her eyesight at age 5, just cried and said all she wanted was to be able to see and to walk again. She understands how difficult it has become for her mother to care for her. And she knows her own future will become even more difficult should anything happen to her mother. The only thing that sustains them is their faith in God.

One of my Jordanian friends has developed a strong bond with Miriam and Janan. He arranged for us to deliver a small refrigerator and food to their flat. This dear friend knows that their situation is more difficult than that of other refugees because neither of these women are capable of working. I told him that our missions ministry would pay the next six months of their rent to give him time to come up with some longer term solutions.

After praying with these women, we left their flat with heavy hearts. We had once again witnessed the destructive legacy of ISIS. As followers of Jesus, we are compelled to care for all who are in need regardless of their religious background. Earlier in the day we had provided for the needs of a Muslim couple still grieving the death of their 5 year-old daughter. We demonstrated the same love and concern for them as we had shown Miriam and Janan. Jesus would expect nothing less of us — something that ISIS will never understand.