They Dried My Tears

During our time in Jordan, I had the opportunity to work at a Syrian school. One day, the pain of my grief was more evident than others. It was just one of those hard days. And there I was, standing near all of these children on the playground, many of whom who have known more about pain in their childhood than many adults do in their entire lives. And yet, the tears were not going to be held back no matter how much I told myself not to cry.

Another volunteer came over to me and asked if I was okay. Of course, my response to that question was to burst into tears. Perfect.

She came over to me to comfort me as I was crying. By this time, a few children had stopped playing to look over at me. I felt so embarrassed. I wanted more than anything for them to ignore me. Then my teammate Adrian, who was on the playground with me, came over to give me a big hug.

By this time, none of the kids were playing anymore. They were all standing around me, staring at me as I continued to cry and continued to pray for the tears to stop. Adrian pulled away from the hug for a moment, she looked around at all the kids, then yelled, “Alright everyone! Let’s give her a big hug!” Before I could react, all of the kids pressed against me, hugging me, speaking to me in Arabic what were no doubt words of encouragement.

As they began to break free of the hug and go back to playing, many of them grabbed my cheeks and gave me a kiss. Some gave me another hug. Many of them were saying “I love you!” as they ran back towards the playground.

But one boy stayed and waited for all of the other children to go back to play. He looked up at me and made the motion of wiping his eyes, motioning for me to do the same. So I put my fingers up to my eyes, and wiped away the tears. He then formed a smile with his lips and pointed to them, waiting for me to follow suit. I couldn’t help but crack a smile at that. Then, upon seeing my smile, he got happy and put his hand up for a high-five. We high-fived and he went back to playing with the other children.

I was immediately filled with love not only from these children, but from God. He used Syrian children, children who have experienced unimaginable grief in their own short lives, to comfort me in my own grief of the loss of my father. I was so focused on trying to stop crying, trying to avoid being seen as weak or pathetic. But these kids didn’t see weakness. They didn’t look down on me or resent me. They looked at me with love. They told me in a language more powerful than words that I am seen, that I am loved, and that it’s okay to cry.

Please pray for these children and for the Syrian refugee crisis.