tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-198763982024-03-14T07:48:54.600+02:00refugee stories from athensUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger41125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19876398.post-37521317446720042712015-01-28T06:49:00.001+02:002015-01-28T06:50:13.237+02:00A Home in the Heart of Athens...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Here is the link to a great article about the Helping Hands ministry in Athens...<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.iteams.us/2014/06/a-home-near-the-heart-of-athens/">http://www.iteams.us/2014/06/a-home-near-the-heart-of-athens/</a></div>
Scotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16792409625047970709noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19876398.post-27278031951760258052014-03-08T05:34:00.001+02:002014-03-08T05:34:29.158+02:00Tired of saying, "I'm sorry..."<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
This happened several years ago but I am just getting around to posting it:<br />
<br />
One of the things I hate the most about this ministry is how many
times a week I have to say to refugees, "I'm sorry..." ("I'm sorry we
don't have any more pampers for your baby", "I'm sorry we don't have a
place for you to sleep", "I'm sorry shower time is over", "I'm sorry we
don't have work for you", "I'm sorry we cannot give you money", "I'm
sorry" "I'm sorry" "I'm sorry").<br /><br />One evening it seemed I
was saying it so many times that I went to HIDE in the office. I wasn't
in there 30 second when there was a knock on the door. It was Rawah,
one of our Arabic translators. He (not I) opened the door and poked his
head in, saying, "Scott, there's a guy here who needs medical help." I
replied, "Rawah, you know we cannot help people medically. Please tell
him that yourself!" Just then the young man poked his head in the door
next to Rawah so I invited them both in to sit in the office with me.<br /><br />
<br />
<div class="">
The young Kurdish man
entered the office agitated, expectant. Rawa, one of our Iraqi
volunteers, translated the Kurd's flood of Arabic words. "He says he
needs medicine," Rawa said.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The Kurd leaned over and pulled his shirt up, unwrapping an abdominal
brace to reveal a back laced with scars.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>"He only has one kidney," Rawa translated.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span> Then he removed one of his shoes
to display another physical malady, and the small office suddenly reeked of a
misshapen foot that most likely hadn't been washed in a very long time.<br />
<br />
"Tell him," I said to Rawa, "that I'm very sorry, but we can't
do anything for him unless he has a prescription, and even then we may not be
able to help him."<br />
<br />
The Kurd, named Ariwah, continued speaking, even though the interpreter was the
only one<br />
who could understand, but the tone of his voice, the pleading of his eyes
conveyed his desperation anyway.<br />
<br />
"How old is he?" I asked.<br />
<br />
The young Kurd's voice broke as he replied. Rawa translated,
"Twenty-six...and he misses his family."<br />
<br />
"Tell him I'd like to pray for him," I said. "I'm so sorry
that there's nothing I can do for him except to pray , but somehow the answer
to his problems are in God. Even though the Kurd couldn't understand the
English words used, he seemed touched that someone showed compassion as God
broke my heart and opened my tear ducts.<br />
<br />
"He says, thank you very much," translated Rawa as I shook<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ariwah's hand after the short
prayer. The young man wrapped his brace back around his waist and walked
out of the office looking subdued, depressed.<br />
<br />
"Thank me for what?" I asked, "I'm not able to do
anything. I wish there were something I could do."<br />
<br />
After the tea and bread had been served, the young Kurd was one of a handful of
men who stayed later to watch the end of the Jesus video playing loudly in his
own dialect. Then he found Daniel, our Kurdish translator, and the two of
them approached me, Ariwah wearing a big smile on his face. "He
wants to tell you," Daniel said, "that he thanks you for your
kindness to him. He doesn't want anything from you. He only wants
to tell you thank you because the tears of a Christian make him want to put his
faith in Jesus."<br />
<br />
Then Ariwah turned and entered the Seeker's Class.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Tekton; font-size: 10pt;">Two weeks later I saw him and asked
how he was doing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With a joyful
expression he recounted the events from the day we met. “I didn’t tell you on
that day, but after you prayed for me all of the pain left my body.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But what led me to Jesus were your
tears for me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now I am following
Jesus…I have been baptized and am studying the Bible with someone…Nobody will
ever turn me away from Him because He is the Truth.”</span></div>
</div>
Scotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16792409625047970709noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19876398.post-60837479369774620332013-04-28T22:41:00.002+03:002013-04-28T22:41:17.830+03:00From Cave to Christ...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
Esmerelda's
Testimony...</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
...from
living in a </div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
cave
to LIFE in Christ!</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
Tue,
Oct 23, 2012 </div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
This
is a POWERFUL testimony that strongly moves me when I read it because:</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
a.
It glorifies God</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
b.
It speaks of how God continues to move from, and beyond, Athens</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
c.
It speaks of how God used Gregor and Gregor's parents to share God's
life-changing love</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
with
Esmerelda</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
d.
I personally know Esmerelda, and she is a bright, beautiful, joyful, loving and
humble</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
servant
of God. We are supporting her, and we hope you will pray about supporting
her if</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
you
can. She is a WORTHY investment! You can give a tax-deductible
investment online at:</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
https://give.cru.org/2880510
(then click "give a gift")</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
"I
was born in Shkoder, Albania, a country devastated in many levels under the
harshest</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
Communist
regime of Eastern Europe. I belonged to a race that even among a poor and</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
devastated
people was marginalized, despised and made fun of.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
They
call us Gypsies.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
And
among my own people I was an unlucky case. As a kid I new nothing of my
mother.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
She
left us when I was two to go to Italy, thinking of finding a better life. I
learned later her</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
intentions
were to come back and take us when she would have made some money, but this</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
never
happened. We were three children but I remember only my father with whom
I stayed </div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
when
mother left.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
I
was little but was told latter because the house was so old and crumbling, my
father and</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
me
moved to a cave in a hill nearby. No doors, no windows, when it rained,
water would</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
drip
in over our “bed”. We had a dog and a cat. Once the cat got a snake in
our bedding</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
and
killed it saving my life. Another time the dog saved me from criminals who
pepper-</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
sprayed
my father and tried to kidnap me.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
That
is the first “house” I remember.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
We
begged for daily bread from shop to shop, from coffee bar to coffee bar.
I did not know</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
what
family meant. I coveted other children when I saw them hugging their mothers,
thinking</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
in
silence, I want to have a family.<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"> <span style="font-size: x-small;">The only
person that loved me and I loved him was father. </span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: x-small;">
</span><div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span>I loved him so much that I never wanted to
be separated from him. I did not want to know </span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: x-small;">
</span><div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span>about God. I thought He does not care for me.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
At
around age seven, my grandmother took us in and we shared a room with her in my</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
uncle's
apartment. I never got to go to school. Daily survival was the theme of
our lives.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
One
day while playing in front of the apartment building, my cousin, the uncle's
daughter,</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
invited
me to a place they called “fellowship place”. Almost all kids from the
neighborhood</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
would
go there. I went.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
It
was a dark red metallic door in front of which stood what seemed then to me to
be an</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
older
lady. She welcomed children with hugs. They all called her mother Roza. That
sounded</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
strange.
Being a timid child I did not go to her, but as I waited my turn to go in
through the</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
door,
she, with a big smile and a love I did not know how to describe, opened her
arms </div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
towards
me and said, “Come and give a hug to mother.” It was the embrace I had longed
for</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
all
my life. I did not want to be separated from it. I felt love, perfect love,
unconditional love.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
Inside
I was asking, “Where is this love coming from?". With time I was to
discover that the</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
love
mother Roza had, was the love of Jesus Christ.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
Soon
that woman would become my mother for real.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
My
father passed away suddenly when I was eight years old. I did not know but
mother Roza</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
had
promised my father to send me to school. She had a long hard battle with my
grandmother</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
who
was in charge. Sheherself being uneducated, did not see a need for me to go to
school. </div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
Then
mother Rosa and her husband (my new father) Zef and my brother Gregor (who came
to</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
Christ
in Athens and was the pastor of the church) took me in for good. This was
another hard</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
battle
with my grandmother. Everything changed. I had a family. My own room, a
warm bed,</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
food,
clean clothes, and I went to school like the other kids. Father Zef would take
me to </div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
the
school and waited to pick me up when I finished.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
But
only at eleven years old I deeply understood my need to be born again by making
the Lord</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
Jesus
Christ my Savior and my Lord. I did this with all my heart, on my knees, with
tears in my</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
eyes.
It was something Gregor had said when he came to share once at the Children's
Church:</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
“God
told Noah to make one door to the Ark through which he his family and the
animals had</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
to
go to be saved. And in the same way Jesus is the Door to Salvation. He is the
only way to</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
the
Father. No one goes to the Father except through Him."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
From
that moment on I am holding His hand and never want to let go. I got a new life
both</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
ways,
in this world and in eternity. I still faced many difficulties and
challenges. Father Zef</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
passed
away one year after I was adopted. So I lost my father again. As Gregor
got married</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
to
Kela and they moved to Kosovo to serve the Lord there in the city of Gjilan me
and mother</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
Roza
moved also there. Mother Roza’s heath was deteriorating and in a few years she
also</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
went
to be with the Lord.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
I
got to go to high school and university in Kosovo. God’s faithful hand has been
with me</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
always
and according to the promise He made that He will never leave me, He will never</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
forsake
me. For many years growing up in the new family and the church I had a
dream,</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
one
desire to serve the Lord all my life. I did this in the churches I have been
helping in kids</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
and
youth ministries in Shkoder, Albania and in Gjilan and Prishtina (in
Kosovo). Doing as much as</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
I
could, counting it a privilege. During the university years I got also
very active with Campus</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
Crusade
for Christ. And in the last year of my studies God put it in my heart to
join them</div>
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full-time.
I applied, and was accepted.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
<br /></div>
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Now
I am ministering on campus and seeing God bring others to Himself and using me
and</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
others
to help them find Him and to grow in Him. Praise the Lord! In June
of 2013 I plan to</div>
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marry
my fiance and we will minister together for Jesus!</div>
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<br /></div>
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Scotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16792409625047970709noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19876398.post-17398304034684024292013-04-28T22:39:00.001+03:002013-04-28T22:39:25.780+03:00M’s Testimony <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
<span style="font-family: "\0027TimesNewRomanPSMT\0027"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
<span style="font-family: "\0027TimesNewRomanPSMT\0027"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I’m a Kurd
from Iran. All of my family has been on Haaji, so they are very religious. I
fought with my family all the time because I wouldn’t go to the mosque. My dad
would tell me that I was like Noah’s son who wouldn’t come to God. So that’s
why I separated from my family. </span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
<span style="font-family: "\0027TimesNewRomanPSMT\0027"; font-size: 12.0pt;">My family
was part of a political (and religious) group that believes that Iran should
have freedom and that Kurdistan should be a separate country. </span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
<span style="font-family: "\0027TimesNewRomanPSMT\0027"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Four years
ago, the Iranian religious police came to our house, started shooting at us,
and completely destroyed our house. There were no windows or doors left, and
they took everything we had in the house. One of my uncles was shot. He had
been in jail for six years, and had just gotten out of jail when this happened.
After these problems, the government asked my uncle to work for them, but he
wouldn’t accept. So he left for Iraq. </span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
<span style="font-family: "\0027TimesNewRomanPSMT\0027"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Before this
happened, I was just part of the group to support my uncle, but after this I
became much more involved in the group because of what the government had done
to us. I started going to the judges to petition them to hold the government
responsible for destroying our house. I told them that I was not involved with
the group, but my uncle was. Instead, they charged me with crimes, and told me
I was not allowed to go back to my own city. They laughed at me when I asked
why I couldn’t go back, but they just mocked me. Then I found out that they
were playing with me, that they wouldn’t help me get justice. </span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
<span style="font-family: "\0027TimesNewRomanPSMT\0027"; font-size: 12.0pt;">This is only
one example of the reasons I had to leave Iran. The government kept bringing
charges against me. If I told you all the things that happened to me during
that time, it would fill a whole book. The government kept looking for any
reason to lock me away forever. Because the government was against me, many
other people took a dislike to me, and I had to carry a knife around with me to
defend myself. My situation was like a container of petrol, just waiting for
someone to light a match. </span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
<span style="font-family: "\0027TimesNewRomanPSMT\0027"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I left Iran
with my passport, but at the border I just gave them a lot of money to let me
into Turkey. I stayed in Turkey for three months. It was a really bad winter. I
stayed in a smuggler’s house. My goal was to go to Bulgaria, because it’s
easier to get to the rest of Europe from there. But since it was so cold and
there was a way to leave, a group of us decided to come to Greece. </span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
<span style="font-family: "\0027TimesNewRomanPSMT\0027"; font-size: 12.0pt;">On the way
from Turkey to Greece, I had to go through a river. While I walked through the
river, I said “I give all of my past to this river, and begin to live a new
life now.” </span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
<span style="font-family: "\0027TimesNewRomanPSMT\0027"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I came to
Athens, and became very sick. I was taken to a hospital, and in the hospital
many people came to visit me. They didn’t care that I was not from the same
town or even the same country as them. They offered me many things, and I never
had to pay for medicine or anything in the hospital. One thing came to my mind,
that they are Christian, </span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
<span style="font-family: "\0027TimesNewRomanPSMT\0027"; font-size: 12.0pt;">and that is
the reason they are helping me. In Turkey they were Moslem, but they never
helped me. </span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
<span style="font-family: "\0027TimesNewRomanPSMT\0027"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I heard in
the park that there was a place that gave out food. So I came to Helping Hands.
I saw Nader, who was speaking about the gospel. I decided to come one Sunday to
the Persian Christian Fellowship. I thought, “all those years I fought against
my father about the Moslem faith, but now I should find out what Christians
believe.” Nader said that Jesus is the Son of God, and I thought it was
blasphemy to say that man became God. </span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
<span style="font-family: "\0027TimesNewRomanPSMT\0027"; font-size: 12.0pt;">But it was a
big question in my mind, what happened when Jesus was born? I thought that
either Mary was adulterous, or it was a miracle. Then I read the entire life of
Jesus, and I found out that not only was his birth a miracle, but his death and
resurrection were miracles too. </span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
<span style="font-family: "\0027TimesNewRomanPSMT\0027"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I came to
the conclusion that I am a sinner. There were two things in my life that I have
always regretted, and always felt guilty about. No person knew about them, but
God always knew. But I heard that Jesus came to forgive our sins, and I thought
“I really need a savior, to save me from those sins.” I believe that it was a
miracle that Jesus was born, to die for us to save us from our sins, and I
accepted him as my savior. </span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
<span style="font-family: "\0027TimesNewRomanPSMT\0027"; font-size: 12.0pt;">From the day
that I gave my heart to Jesus, it was like a heavy burden was lifted from my
shoulders. When I raised my hand to accept Jesus in Persian Christian
Fellowship, it was like all my guilt and shame left through my open hands. I
think everything in my life has been changed. When I was in Iran, I lived in
the same city as my parents, but didn’t even visit them once a year. But once I
became a Christian, I started to care for them. Before I didn’t love anyone,
and only thought about how I could hurt them. Now I want to love them. </span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
<span style="font-family: "\0027TimesNewRomanPSMT\0027"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I am from a
big group of people in Kurdistan, and everyone there knows me. I know if they
hear that I became Christian, immediately they would reject me and the gospel
at the same time. But I want to show the love of Jesus to them first, to
prepare their hearts, then to share the gospel with them. I want to share the
love of Jesus to everyone around the world. I started here in Athens. Everyone
in Athens knows that I’m a Christian, because I can’t stop talking about my
faith. Even the smugglers know. They’ll kill me if they find me. But I know
that if everybody in this world would know His love, His peace, and His
freedom, there wouldn’t be any more pain in the world. </span></div>
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Scotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16792409625047970709noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19876398.post-68717573324817840682013-03-09T18:10:00.002+02:002013-03-13T18:32:37.701+02:00"Ahmad" 's story<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<h1 class="entry-title">
Ahmad's Story</h1>
<div class="entry-meta">
<a href="http://namingtheworld.org/2012/06/04/profiles-ahmad/" rel="bookmark" title="12:33 pm"><time class="entry-date" datetime="2012-06-04T12:33:50+00:00" pubdate="">June 4, 2012</time></a><span class="byline"> by <span class="author vcard"><a class="url fn n" href="http://namingtheworld.org/author/ryananddrew/" rel="author" title="View all posts by Ryan Gilles">Ryan Gilles</a></span></span>
</div>
<div class="entry-content">
<br />
One day, Ahmad* will tell his son the story that he was never told.
Not the wanderer’s tale that he knows so well, the one marred by hopes
dashed on foreign shores and an endless search for belonging. Ahmad will
not dread the end of this story because borders, papers, and prisons
will not extinguish its light. One day, Ahmad will sit down with his
son, look into those expectant eyes, and smile. Because on that day,
Ahmad will tell his son the story of how they came home.<br />
<br />
It has been eight months since Ahmad last saw his wife and son. 1,806
miles stand between them, but on May 5, 2012 it must have felt like
light years. Standing at the front of a small church in the middle of
Athens, Greece, Ahmad was further away from his family than ever before.
A distance measured not by miles but understanding. His wife, Najla,
had understood, even encouraged him when he left Iran seven months
earlier. With nothing more than a backpack, Ahmad had escaped those
borders in search of a foreign land where his son might be more than
just another Afghan refugee. A land that he and his family might call
home. But this was something altogether different. The ground he stood
upon that afternoon was not just foreign. It was forbidden.<br />
<br />
Ahmad stepped into the water-filled basin at the front of the dim
sanctuary and it seemed to carry him an ocean away from his family and
the Islamic heritage he had always known. The man awaiting him in the
water smiled warmly as he reached out and clasped Ahmad’s hand. In a
room filled with stillness, the two exchanged soft words and nods with
the water around their waists. And then the stillness was broken as the
man looked at Ahmad and announced to the small group gathered, “Because
of this, I baptize you in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy
Spirit.” As Ahmad’s head slipped beneath the surface, so too did the
small silver necklace he has worn for years, bearing his wife’s
initials. And Ahmad felt the cool water washing away 30 years of a
painful and broken past.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
* * *</div>
<a href="http://namingtheworld15.files.wordpress.com/2013/01/jovid-1.png"><img alt="Ahmad 1" class="size-medium wp-image-92 alignleft" height="300" src="http://namingtheworld15.files.wordpress.com/2013/01/jovid-1.png?w=214&h=300" width="214" /></a>An
expression of sadness crosses Ahmad’s face as he closes his eyes and
takes a deep breath. That’s how you know he is remembering, sifting
through his past as if dredging polluted waters in search of a few,
precious items. People tend to tie their memories to the anchors of
familiarity and belonging that ground their sundry experiences. But
Ahmad has no such anchors. Ahmad has never known what it feels like to
belong.<br />
<br />
“There is this feeling of identity crisis,” explains Ahmad, a solemn
look on his face. “Somehow, I think it will last forever for me.”<br />
<br />
Ahmad was just one year old in 1983 when his parents fled the growing
violence in Kabul and resettled in Mashhad, Iran. The Soviet invasion
of Afghanistan created a flood of refugees in the early 1980’s that
filled the dusty roads leading to the borders of Pakistan and Iran.
Ahmad’s parents hoped that Iran might be a sanctuary for all Muslims,
given the country’s recent Islamic revolution. But they were bitterly
disappointed.<br />
<br />
With his head held high, Ahmad will tell you today that he is Afghan,
not Iranian. And yet, he has spent less than five of his 30 years
there. Mashhad was no home for Ahmad’s family because the colors of
racial stigma painted a bleak backdrop to that stage of their lives.<br />
<br />
They did not belong, the Afghan refugees, and with caustic sneers, the
Iranians would never let them forget it.<br />
<br />
“‘Oh look at those Afghans,’ they would say. ‘They stink.’ They would
call us dogs. They still call Afghans that today…that was the identity
they gave us.”<br />
<br />
Ahmad cried for two hours on the day his mother was forced to pull
him out of the third grade. It was the day the government cracked down
on immigrants throughout the country, but 8-year-old Ahmad struggled to
understand, watching through windows that seemed like jail bars as
smiling Iranian children walked to class. The blood that made his crying
eyes red also made Ahmad and his family worthless in the eyes of the
Iranian government. It would be years later before he understood that.
But on that day, little Ahmad began to understand the feeling of
inferiority.<br />
<br />
Those ten years in the slums of Mashhad left Ahmad anchorless and
adrift. A budding tree with no roots. For a brief time his family moved
back to Afghanistan, but the shadow of violence and ethnic strife
followed them. By the time Ahmad was 13 his family had resettled in the
ghetto of Qom, Iran, a desert city south of Tehran where his family
still lives today.<br />
Ahmad frowns as he remembers his early years in Qom. Those were dark
years, defined by uncertainty. “We never knew what was going to happen,”
Ahmad says with a shrug. “There was no clear policy. We never knew if
or when we would get kicked out.” What Ahmad did know was the feeling of
injustice. Every day, he would pass seemingly carefree Iranian
teenagers as he sprinted to work at the nearby carpentry shop, clutching
his small lunch in a brown paper bag. “Why am I not like them?” he
would ask. “Why me? Why us?” Those were the answerless questions that
weighed on Ahmad every day. “It all felt so unjust. Some Afghan refugees
got used to it, but I never did.”<br />
<br />
As a teenager, Ahmad found studying English to be an escape from the
pain of every day life. Perhaps those days and nights he spent studying
were a silent rebellion of sorts, a way to spite the inequitable system
that declared him unworthy of education. But practicing English became
more than just an escape on the day that it led Ahmad to a Christian
chat room online. It was the first time he had ever heard of someone
named Jesus Christ, and Ahmad was intrigued. At the end of the
conversation, the people in the chat room, people on the other side of
the world whom he had never met, prayed for him. That was the first time
anyone had prayed for Ahmad and he never forgot it.<br />
<br />
Islam was all Ahmad had ever known; yet somehow, all he knew seemed
wrong. “Muhammad said there is no such things as borders. That we are
all Muslim brothers. But I saw borders. I saw my Muslim ‘brothers’ call
us Afghans dogs.” Ahmad shakes his head with disgust. “By the time I
was 16 I was sure this was all wrong.”<br />
<br />
There are many days Ahmad wishes he could forget, but one most of
all. He wishes he had never stepped into that taxi with four Iranian
soldiers back in 2004. He wishes they had never asked him where he was
from as they drove the hour from Tehran to Qom. He wishes he could
forget the terrible things they said to him; the mordant jokes and the
cruel stories. “That drive, it felt like a year to me. They did things I
just can’t tell you about.”<br />
<br />
If Ahmad ever had a ‘normal life’ in Iran, it all came to an end in
2006 on the road from Qom to Mashhad. Police checkpoints were common
enough, but they were also dangerous for Afghan refugees, especially
those with no identification. Over and over Ahmad told the police that
he was a legal refugee, but they didn’t listen as they dragged him
toward the vehicle that would carry him to an infamous refugee camp near
the border. “I spent two days and nights there,” Ahmad remembers,
almost as if the thought itself is a bitter taste. “During those two
days and nights I thought a lot about my life in Iran. And I knew I had
to put an end to it. It felt like hell to me.”<br />
<br />
When Ahmad was finally able to return home, he knew it was not for
good. But leaving would be costly and for six months he worked to earn
the two million Toman necessary to procure fake documents that would
take him to Turkey, and hopefully beyond. The journey to Turkey was
simple enough, but entering Europe proved a more difficult feat. Three
times, Ahmad tried to pass into Greece, paddling a small raft in the
dead of night toward the nearest Grecian island. And three times he was
caught. The last of which landed him in a Turkish prison for over one
month.<br />
<br />
Two options for deportation, that was all the Turkish government gave
Ahmad. And both ended in Afghanistan. Rather than to be left at the
border, Ahmad chose to be flown into Kabul where he knew family and
friends that could help. But it was not family or friends that greeted
Ahmad as he stepped off the plane. It was chaos. A massive explosion
shook the ground before Ahmad had even touched Afghan soil. An explosion
he later found had been a suicide attack that killed 35 people. “I
lived in constant fear of being killed during those two months,”
remembers Ahmad.<br />
<br />
But amid the chaos, Ahmad found something else: the love of his life.
He had met Najla once before, but this time was different. Something
blossomed as they stole time together, talking eagerly for hours on end
in her parents’ kitchen. Under Islamic law, it is forbidden for
unmarried males and females to spend time together alone, but that was
of little consequence to Ahmad. “Come what may, I told her. I wanted to
talk to her because I liked her. But she was so scared.” Ahmad
eventually left Afghanistan to return to Iran, but not before Najla
looked into his eyes and promised him that she would wait, no matter how
long it took. Just one year later, Ahmad’s parents traveled to Kabul
according to Islamic tradition, and returned to Qom with the glowing
Najla, who soon after became Ahmad’s wife. The happiness Ahmad felt that
day could only have been surpassed three years later when he held his
newborn son for the first time. Ahmad smiles as he remembers. These are
his treasures.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://namingtheworld15.files.wordpress.com/2013/01/jovid-2.jpeg"><img alt="Ahmad 2" class="aligncenter size-medium wp-image-93" height="199" src="http://namingtheworld15.files.wordpress.com/2013/01/jovid-2.jpeg?w=300&h=199" width="300" /></a></div>
His son was nearly one year old when Ahmad thought again of leaving
Iran. The notion of his boy living the restless, inferior life of an
Afghan refugee was simply more than Ahmad could bear. “His father grew
up an illegal refugee, his grandfather worked as an illegal refugee and
now he was born an illegal refugee,” says Ahmad, the pain of those words
more than evident. “That was tearing me apart.”<br />
<br />
Eight months ago, Ahmad again set his sights on the shores of Greece.
And this time, he found them. The system had changed since 2006, and
rather than deportation, this journey ended on the streets of Athens.
But those streets were not the place of hope and promise that he had
imagined. The illusion of endless opportunity died a quick death upon
the cold, hard ground of Alexander Park, where Ahmad was forced to sleep
for one week. Greece was never meant to be the final destination, but
Ahmad quickly found himself ensnared in a broken system like so many
other refugees. With no papers and no money, the borders of Greece
loomed large.<br />
<br />
But Ahmad doesn’t believe it was chance that brought him to Greece.
Nor was it chance that brought him to the doors of the Helping Hands
refugee ministry one day. A hot meal, that was all Ahmad was looking for
the morning he turned into the alleyway in the district of Omonia and
up a flight of concrete stairs that lead to the Christian ministry. Yet
in the small, white-walled entry room at the top of the stairs, he found
something else: a table full of Bibles.<br />
<br />
“It was the first time I had been able to just read a Bible without
fearing for my life.” That was when Ahmad began asking questions,
something he had never been able to do within the walls of Islam. And
with joy, the team at Helping Hands answered those questions.<br />
<br />
For months, Ahmad kept his new Bible tucked safely away inside his
backpack; a treasure that was still dangerous for him to carry, even in
Greece. During that time, he lived in a crowded flat downtown with other
Afghan refugees. Shaking his head, Ahmad remembers trying to fall
asleep many nights as his radical Islamist roommates talked together
about their hatred for Christians. Little did they know that the sacred
object of their hatred rested mere feet away, beside Ahmad’s head and
pounding heart.<br />
<br />
Ahmad continued to study, to search, and to learn. And slowly, he
felt his heart changing, or perhaps coming alive. “The thing that
touched me deeply was when I heard that Christianity was not about a
long list of rules, but about a relationship.” For months, Ahmad
wrestled with the idea and the significance of that relationship. But
one day, he knew he had wrestled enough. It was the day he eagerly
called two of his mentors from Helping Hands to tell them one simple,
beautiful thing: “I decided to put my faith in Jesus Christ.”<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
* * *</div>
Ahmad emerged from the water with a smile on his face, the small
sanctuary coming alive with cheers and clapping. But they were not the
cheers of his wife and son. As Ahmad stepped out of the large water
basin, he was handed a towel. Not papers of documentation. And after
scores of hugs and handshakes, he stepped back onto the streets of a
foreign city that will never be home.<br />
<br />
Ahmad’s journey is far from over. And yet, he smiles now. Because
after 30 long years, Ahmad finally knows who he is and where he truly
belongs. It is a place far beyond the reach of borders, papers, and
laws. A home that no capricious earthly entity can snatch from him; a
treasure of eternal citizenship that he holds with his heart.<br />
<br />
But the water in that basin did not change the fact that Ahmad
remains an Afghan refugee; his needs remain real and the road ahead,
uncertain. Ahmad still longs for a country of his own. A flag to wave
with pride and a land that his son can call home. He prays for
discernment as he considers his next steps. He fights for papers that
will validate his name. He clings to the hope that one day his wife and
son will know the joy that he has found in Christ. And above all, he
fights for the day he will see them again.<br />
<br />
Because on that day, Ahmad will tell his son the story of how they came home. And with that hope, he presses on. -Ryan<br />
<br />
Please pray for Ahmad, that he would cling to Christ and grow in his
faith during this time. Also, pray that Ahmad would have wisdom and
discernment as he prepares for the day when he will tell his wife about
the Lord, that she would have ears to hear and a heart to receive. And
pray that they will be together again soon, in a place they can call
home.<br />
<br />
*<i>For security purposes, the names in this post have been changed</i></div>
</div>
Scotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16792409625047970709noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19876398.post-2401647402018598212011-11-03T18:51:00.001+02:002011-11-03T18:51:24.923+02:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-QPGULse6le4/TrLEhsI92XI/AAAAAAAABp4/e89J-Z9VvDo/s1600/KBBCover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-QPGULse6le4/TrLEhsI92XI/AAAAAAAABp4/e89J-Z9VvDo/s320/KBBCover.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
True stories of refugees whose lives were transformed by Jesus Christ through the Helping Hands ministry in Athens, Greece. You can order from <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Kingdom-Beyond-Borders-Finding-Refugee/dp/1449715664">Amazon.com</a>, <a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/kingdom-beyond-borders-helena-smrcek/1106678368">Barnes and Noble</a>, and <a href="http://bookstore.westbowpress.com/Products/SKU-000459869/kingdom-beyond-borders.aspx">Westbow Publishing</a>.</div>Scotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16792409625047970709noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19876398.post-23652001720669545412011-11-03T18:34:00.001+02:002011-11-03T18:34:05.029+02:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Here is the video promo of our new book "Kingdom Beyond Borders"...<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dxZ6YGouijkS4izqcDBt_I1Uoil8r6AKE_55BSJtf6jdNXhzOtLy3hmv9jPZ5jJBi0_toQIW1MBL5s' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<br />
<br />
<span id="goog_389585273"></span><span id="goog_389585274"></span></div>Scotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16792409625047970709noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19876398.post-51450039789652235892011-11-01T19:50:00.001+02:002011-11-01T19:50:23.725+02:00Ilir's Story<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Ilir’s Testimony</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I was born in Albania in 1970, and grew up under the
communist regime.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was forbidden
to talk about God, but I always wondered who created us as I looked at the
stars above my mom’s village.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
could look at a watch or a car and understand that somebody made them for a
purpose.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But who made me?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And for what purpose did I exist?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I asked my mom about these things when
I was still very young.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She never
responded directly, but would say that I would figure it out some day.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When I graduated from high school, I applied to the
university but was denied because my father was not a member of the communist
party.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So I went to work as a
mechanic on large trucks for several years before I went into the army to
fulfill my military obligation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They
chose me to be a member of the Special Forces, and at the beginning of the
revolution we were commanded to break up the escalating demonstrations.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One night I received orders to prepare
my men for a demonstration the next morning, but this time we were told to
bring our guns and use them if necessary.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>These orders went against the constitution and my conscience, so I
decided that I would leave before they had a chance to court-martial me for
disobeying orders.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I told my men
that I was leaving and that they were free to do what they felt was right.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I knew that I had to flee the country, so I went with a
friend to Greece.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I worked in
Greece for almost four years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>During that time, a Greek Orthodox man told me about Jesus, but I wasn’t
really interested.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After making
some money, I returned to Albania where I thought I could build a business
under the new democratic system.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
started selling cars with my brother and sister, but the business failed after
my brother wrecked some cars and pocketed some of our profits.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Without money in my pocket, I started
noticing that many of the people I thought were my friends didn’t want to hang
around with me anymore.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They didn’t
really care about me—they cared about my money.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In that desperate situation, I cried out to God.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why did God allow this to happen to
me?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was a good person.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
One day, I noticed a new booklet in my parent’s house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was the book of Genesis.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For the first time in my life, I read
about creation and found answers to the questions I had asked since my
childhood.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>God created the world,
and He made me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But why?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I found answers to that question when I
went to put the booklet back and there, next to it, was a New Testament.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I started reading the Gospels, but was
confused by some things.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The next
day happened to be a Sunday, so I decided to go to the Catholic church (the
only church in town).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I listened
as the priest preached about salvation, and I asked him afterwards to explain
some things to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He told me to
come back on Tuesday to play soccer with him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He spelled out the way of salvation through the book of John
and gave me a copy to read on my own.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Looking back, I truly believe that he was born-again.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Because of my failed business and the poor economy in
Albania, I decided it was time to return to Greece.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The first time I tried, the police caught me and sent me
back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was still reading the book
of John at that time, and I challenged the Lord to show me His power by
bringing me safely back to Athens.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>After seven days and nights of walking over the mountains, including
many miracles and acts of God, I arrived in Athens.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I determined to find a church and learn more about God.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Of course, the day after I arrived in
Athens happened to be a Sunday.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
met an old friend from Albania in the street, and he asked me to join him for
the afternoon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I went with him and
it turned out to be a Bible study.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Leading the Bible study was Scott McCracken, who later became my Team
Leader when I joined the International Teams missionaries in Athens.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After six months of studying the Bible, I committed my life
to Christ and was baptized.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Around
that time, Scott also told me about the soup kitchen they were running for
refugees and invited me to come help if I had any free time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So I went, enjoyed it, and soon
discovered one of my gifts in helping to organize the volunteers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I also learned that I had the gift of
evangelism as I shared with many of the people who came.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Over the next couple years I grew in the Lord, and God
fanned the fire in my heart to serve Him and make Him known among the
nations.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Along with continuing to
help at the soup kitchen, I started sharing the gospel with other Albanians I
met, and began leading a Bible Study for new believers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was my heart to encourage them to
share the good news with others.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In 1997, I began asking the Lord what He wanted me to do
with my life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One night in
September, the Lord responded in a dream.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I saw a bright light and a man telling me, “Get up, my son.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I woke up and saw that my window was
open.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I knew I had closed it the
night before, so my first thought was that a thief was in the house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I checked around and saw no one, so I
closed the window and went back to sleep.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Again, I saw a bright light and the man saying, “Get up!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I woke again and the window was open
again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This time, I heard
footsteps in the room, but no one was there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So I crawled under the bed, covered myself with my blanket,
and began praying, “Lord, here I am.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>If you want to take my life, take it.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But he told me, “Get up and go read your Bible.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My Bible was open on my desk.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I read the page quickly, slammed the
book shut, and then jumped back in bed because I was scared.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But the Lord wouldn’t leave me
alone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Get up and go read!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I heard the Bible open again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I went to my desk and read more
carefully this time, “Go into all the world and preach the good news to all
creation” (Mark 16:15).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I thought,
“Lord, this is not for me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Forget
it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Find somebody else.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was four in the morning and I went
to sleep.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The next morning I got
up to do my normal morning devotions and the Bible was open again, this time to
the book of Jonah.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I read that
story for the first time, I realized that He was going to have me serve Him
whether I wanted to or not.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
could choose to obey, or I could choose to go through the fish first.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The next day, I told Scott McCracken about my dream, and he
told me that he had also been praying about asking me to come work with the
team full-time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So after I applied
and was accepted to International Teams, and after God provided for my support,
I officially joined the team in May of 1998.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It is not easy to be an Albanian in Greece.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is a lot of prejudice against
us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I believe that God has
called me to remain here to tell refugees about Jesus.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Since I was a refugee, I understand
their need to find true Hope.</div>
</div>Scotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16792409625047970709noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19876398.post-72785718619569055742011-06-15T00:43:00.003+03:002011-06-15T00:44:37.415+03:00"D's" Story<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><style>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB">‘I was born into a Muslim family. All through my childhood I had religious instruction by my devout elder brothers. The oldest had 3 spirits passed on to him by his instructor and was in possession of dark powers! </span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB">At the age of 17 I was initiated into the spiritist muslim mystic sect of the ‘Dervishes’. I used to stay on my knees whole nights memorising the Koran and I was not allowed to sleep before the sun came out.</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB">I left my country in the late 90s to come to Europe. Passing through Turkey, I came for the first time across a Christian church with a cross on it. The cross startled me, and I did not know why. I was drawn to it and felt as if the cross was planted in my heart and I could not uproot it. I carried the cross in me and I did not know why and what was its significance. I was a Muslim.</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB">A friend that was travelling with me came to Christ in Turkey, but I was encased and could not make a move towards Christ neither in my mind nor my heart.</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB">In year 2000 I came to Greece and worked hard for a while hoping to go further into northern Europe. It wasn’t long before someone stole all the money I had collected and killed all my dreams.</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB">My answer was to commit an armed robbery. This, I thought, would correct the injustice.</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB">I was caught and thrown into prison. Rage consumed my nights and days until one night Jesus appeared to me in a dream. He stood gracefully before me and said, ‘</span></i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Monotype Corsiva"; font-size: 13pt;">I will give you just wages!</span><span lang="EN-GB">’</span></i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB">In 2002 I was moved into another prison. I suffered extreme stress and anxiety.</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB">There Jesus came to me again in a dream. His countenance was so beautiful and all about Him was brilliance of light. When I woke up all my stress, malice and hatred was gone. I marvelled, but still read the Koran and could not come to Jesus.</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB">In year 2004 I was moved to a prison in Athens.</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB">I read the Koran day and night but nothing could fill my void. One morning the dreaded decision arrived. Deportation! Due to my criminal record, not only would I never have the right to apply for asylum but now I was to be sent back to Iran. The consequences were grave and I went mad with despair at the prospect.</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB">That night I called upon Mohamed, Allah, the prophets, spirits, and Jesus.</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB">‘If anyone is there, come and speak to me.</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB">If you are God, my God, if you love me, if you want me, come and speak to me.’</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB">No one answered me, but Jesus came a third time in my dream.</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB">He was beautiful and brilliant, like the light of the sun.</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB">He spoke to me in Greek and said three times, </span></i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 13pt;">‘</span></i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Monotype Corsiva"; font-size: 13pt;">Be patient a little longer’</span><span lang="EN-GB">.</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB">I woke up next morning feeling as a new born baby at my mother’s arms. I could not understand what had happened to me. My stress was gone and I was full of inexplicable peace. I knew that God was with me and I was not going to be deported.</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB">I was released indeed and I was not deported!</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB">My heart was drawn closer and closer to Jesus. </span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB">And yet there was still something that grabbed me at times from within and I could not fight it. The spirit of Islam was in me.</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB">It took me ten years to come to Christ, there were strongholds binding me.</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB">Then while I was serving my last sentence for not having legal papers, God completed His work in me. I started attending a Greek fellowship and I started to drink of God. I got baptized.</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB">When I went through the waters of baptism I felt as if God put His stamp on me and I was freed completely from the spirit of Islam.</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB">And last year, on Easter day, He came to me and said, </span></i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Monotype Corsiva";">‘</span></i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Monotype Corsiva"; font-size: 13pt;">I died for you. You are my beloved son. If only you know how much you are loved.</span><span lang="EN-GB">’</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB">I will never forget it as long as I live.’</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 24.0pt; text-indent: .25in;"><br />
</div></div>Scotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16792409625047970709noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19876398.post-49066999399779734872011-04-10T18:23:00.001+03:002011-11-01T14:51:45.282+02:00"Mh"--Called and Sent out by the Lord of the Harvest<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">"Mh" is a remarkable young man who until several years ago owned a restaurant and enjoyed a prosperous life in Iran. By 2003 he had become so discouraged by the political and economic situation in his homeland that he and his wife of eleven months set out on the “refugee highway” in search of freedom and a better life. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">"Mh" and his bride traveled together to Turkey but were unable to find a smuggler who could take them any further. The young disillusioned Muslim found it necessary to send his wife back to Iran to live with her family until he could find a way to emigrate to Canada. They agreed that as soon as he was settled and able to buy an airplane ticket for his wife, she would join him in the west. </span></div>
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"Mh" eventually crossed the mountainous border between Turkey and Greece on foot during the night. After his arrival in Athens, he intended to hire a smuggler to sneak him into Norway and then on to the “promised land” of Canada. But God had other plans for his life. . . . </div>
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After spending three months in a refugee camp, he found his way to the ministry center of Helping Hands where he received a Bible and heard the gospel for the first time in his life. He began coming to the Persian Christian Fellowship where he heard messages about the Son of God who died for his sins and experienced the love of Christ in the lives of believers he met there. After several months of seeking and examining the <i>Good News</i> that he had been taught all his life to reject, "Mh" received Jesus Christ as his Savior.</div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> In the past eighteen months, this young believer has remained amazingly cheerful and solid in his faith in spite of a series of agonizing trials. In the early part of 2004, he underwent surgery to remove a cyst from his tailbone. During the ensuing months, he suffered a number of complications and infections. A year after the surgery, the cyst seems to be growing back, and it is very painful for "Mh" to sit in class or on the bus. Partway through the time-consuming and patience-demanding process of applying for a visa to emigrate to Canada, his wife informed him that she had decided to divorce him and never wanted to see him again because he had become a Christian! </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> In spite of these and other heartbreaking setbacks, "Mh" completed the six-month Athens Intensive Ministry School and graduated from the Greek Bible Institute in June, 2006. He serves as the founding pastor of the Persian Christian Community, where more than 50 former Muslims have come to faith in Jesus Christ in the past year. This past summer, like the Apostle Paul’s testimony in Philippians 3, "Mh" shared that even after losing everything that he had valued in his life in Iran, he is convinced that when he came to know Jesus Christ he gained something infinitely greater than marriage, home, business and family. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> After graduation from AIMS, "Mh" continued his studies at the Greek Bible Institute in addition to classes at the ARC. He has a deep hunger for the word of God a vision to return to Iran in God’s timing to open a Bible school. And the BEE International staff in Greece have the incredible joy of teaching the Scriptures and sharing our lives with a young believer like "Mh", who has truly “counted the cost of discipleship” and whom I believe God is going to continue to use in a mighty way here in Athens and eventually as an ambassador for Christ to his own people back in Iran. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">(editor's note: since this story was first recorded some years ago, "Mh" has immigrated to Canada, married a beautiful Canadian "preacher's kid", and returned with his bride to an Islamic country where he is sharing the Good News with others) </span></div>
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</div>Scotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16792409625047970709noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19876398.post-76849245838630956342011-04-10T18:07:00.000+03:002011-04-10T18:07:08.369+03:00"B" 's Story ("Without Words")<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"> <style>
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<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0.25in;"><b><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">WITHOUT WORDS...................</span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">“B” is a tall, noble Afghan woman with fine features and a face that portrays a most fine personality.</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 10pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">I first met her a couple of weeks before Christmas.</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 10pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">It was at 5 o’clock, one Sunday afternoon when she appeared at the little bible study for Iranian and Afghan women that I lead, at Helping Hands.</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 10pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">On introduction she buried her head into her arms on the table in front of her and just wept before us.</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 10pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">We found out through my translator on Sundays, that she had very high levels of sugar in her blood and was full of fear as to what will happen to her three children if she became ill enough to be hospitalised.</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 10pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">We prayed for her.</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 10pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">She was quiet and although she and her children carried visibly a deep and angry sorrow, she kept to herself. </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 10pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">She was not willing to be known.</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 10pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">Next Sunday she is back again.</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 10pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">We are studying the various names of God revealed in the Old Testament.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">Today we are talking about El Elyon, God Most High.</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 10pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">I watch her from the corner of my eye. I feel that she is drinking the words. Later in the evening, during the Persian Fellowship meeting, I find myself sitting next to her and I feel again that her spirit is drinking the words quietly.</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 10pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">At the end of the evening she is in great agitation. Her blood sugar levels have reached 3.5 mg and she is not at all well. We decide with Jimmy to take her to a hospital as she is in danger of becoming comatose if the sugar levels go any higher.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">We arrive at the casualty ward of a hospital that is on night duty.</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 10pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">The emergencies of the night are packed like sardines in a tin can, and we are given an appointment ticket with the number 186!</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 10pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">The night is young....</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 10pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">I realise that the wait is going to be long and we decide that Jimmy should go home and catch some sleep as the next day Nea Zoi has outreach in the downtown brothels.</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 10pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">Suddenly a young lady approaches me and ask if I would like her appointment ticket as she has decided to wait no longer. </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 10pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">Her ticket is number 96!</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 10pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">Aha! It is the Lord!</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 10pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">Within a few minutes it is our turn to be called and the doctor hands me a long list of 101 tests that need to be done in order to round up a diagnosis.</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 10pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">I approach the hospital cashier and the lady responsible asks me if I have medical insurance.</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 10pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">'I have none madam.'</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 10pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">She lifts her face to look at me and after a long gaze, amidst groans, quarrels, smells, arguments of desperate patients, desperate relatives and desperate cashiers, against any hospital rules, she stamps the prescriptions and hands them back to me!</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 10pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">‘You will not pay anything tonight madam...’</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 10pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">Aha! The Lord is here! He has come before us!</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 10pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">My hair stands on end and my heart is filled with anticipation.</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 10pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">The night is pregnant...</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 10pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">It is past midnight.</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 10pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">As we have to wait over 3 hours for the test results, I ask her if she would like to go for a walk outside around the<span> </span>block, as walking is said to help bring down sugar levels. </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 10pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">We walk arm in arm and I feel deep down in my spirit her sorrow and God’s longing to make Himself known to her.</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 10pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">But there are no more than 30 words between us. I barely speak Farsi and she barely speaks English.</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 10pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">We are in need of an interpreter.</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 10pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">We are hardly out of the reach of the hospital, when under the bright and crisp winter sky, she decides to open her heart and reveal her story.</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 10pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 10pt;">“..... My husband.....very good engineer....20 years together....communist…. every day angry.....then changes….very happy...loving….I ask him why…..he tells me<span> </span>on 25th December his Afhgan friend explains about Christmas…..2006 he reads book from India.....about Jesus.....</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 10pt;">...... My husband loves Jesus.....read Book every day.....every month goes Kabul.....meet 30 university people.....they talk about Jesus.......in secret......</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 10pt;">......two of them disappear....... the rest disperse........</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 10pt;">......My husband.....has four brothers......they are Taliban.....they hate Book.....his mother 90 years hates the Book.....everyday they shout...... ‘this Book out of house’......</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 10pt;">....One day.....April 2007 .....four brothers kill my husband with their hands......at home......my children watch him die..............</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 10pt;">…His family say that I gave him the Book….they hate me….I sell my rings and come through Iran to Turkey and to Greek island Kos….our boat breaks…..the police fish me and my children out of the water….the police cry…….”</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">April 2007, Kantahar, stronghold of the Taliban, is watered by the blood of a faithful martyr.</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 10pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">Unknown to men, known unto God.</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 10pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">She weeps quietly under the starry sky and I weep with her, praying the words and longings that are rising in my spirit. </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 10pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">Our hearts are poured out to one another, all that is to be known is known without being said and our friendship is sealed for life.</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 10pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">Hearts speak their own language and the interpreter is the Holy Spirit.</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 10pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">‘...You are my sister..., I want your God be my God...'</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 10pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">We are standing on a pavement and despite the language barrier, we both know, unmistakably that our lives as women have met and that we have met Jesus right there on the bench of a bus stop in downtown Athens.</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 10pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">It is 3 o’clock in the morning.</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 10pt;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">She is back at Helping Hands in a few days, asking which name of God she missed last Sunday!</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 10pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">I take her to our small office and as there is hardly any vocabulary between us I try to help her find, in a Farsi Bible, the appropriate passage from Genesis 16.</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 10pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;"> She reads aloud.</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 10pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">....'Woman, where are you coming from and where are you going? Go back and face your life... I know your mistress...I know your misfortune... I know the child you are carrying...I have a name for him and a future... EL ROI the God who sees! '</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 10pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">Her face lights up.</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 10pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 10pt;">'Very nice, very nice,'</span></i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;"> she says.</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 10pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">I turn her to the 91 Psalm.</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 10pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">She reads the first couple of verses and looks up incredulously. Then she reads a couple more and looks up incredulously. Then a few more.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;"><span> </span>As long as I live I will not forget her look, it is the look of a starved man who has just discovered an enormous cream cake and is savouring the first cherry on the top of the cream!!!!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">Or even of a man born blind who opens his eyes for the first time and sees a world lit up by the warm light of the sun!!</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 10pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">I point her to Psalm 42. 'As the deer pants for the waters so my soul longs for You...'</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 10pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 10pt;">'Very, very nice...'</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">She begins to weep.</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 10pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">Psalm 43. 'Why are disquieted oh my soul, hope thou in God ’.</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 10pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">She is like a thirsty land drinking the long longed for rain, in front of my eyes.</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 10pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">Psalm 23. 'The Lord is my shepherd...'</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 10pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">She lifts up the Book to her lips and kisses the page in her tears.</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 10pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 10pt;">'I understand...I understand these words!'</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">It is an open heaven for Bani and the Holy Spirit is explaining to her the scriptures!</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 10pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">I cannot speak Farsi and she cannot speak more than 30 English words!</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 10pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">The following days, every time she comes to Helping Hands, we shut ourselves in the little office and I try to help her find in a Farsi Bible scriptures that come up in my heart.</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 10pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">Psalm 37. 'Do not fret about the evildoer....cease from anger....'</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 10pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;"> </span><i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 10pt;">'I was angry when I come to Greece, because my husband dies..... I hit my children......'</span></i><i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 10pt;"></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">John 8. 'Woman where are your accusers...neither do I condemn you...'</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 10pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">She weeps and hugs the Book...</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 10pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">And the week days follow, there follow other scriptures.</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 10pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">Isaiah 61. 'the Spirit of the Lord is upon me to preach good tidings to the poor...'</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 10pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">Isaiah 53 '...He was wounded for our transgressions...'</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 10pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 10pt;">'Is this Jesus'?</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">The crucifixion from the last chapters of John.</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 10pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 10pt;">'I believe... I believe...I see...'</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">John 3. Nicodemus and the need of a second birth.</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 10pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 10pt;">'I believe...I want...Jesus my God... Your God ...my God...my eyes open...'</span></i><i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 10pt;"></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">And so this dear woman, in a jam-cramped-cluttered-full of interruptions office, lays hold of Gods salvation, without hardly any words of explanation, hardly any conventional evangelism! I watch her being led through all the stages of a new birth by the precious Holy Spirit alone!</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 10pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">She makes me understand that she wants, on Sunday morning worship, (she has been coming with us the last two weeks), to stand in the front and say to everybody, </span><i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 10pt;">'I believe, I believe, I believe’</span></i><i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">!</span></i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;"> When I point to her the scripture in Romans 10, 9, ’If you believe in your heart and confess with your mouth...', she laughs<i>, </i></span><i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 10pt;"> 'like me’</span></i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">, she says!<span> </span>She is radiant.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">On Sundy mornings ,at the fellowship we attend, she weeps at the beauty of the songs.<span> </span>She brings another young Afgan family with her ‘</span><i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 10pt;">who want Jesus too’</span></i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;"> and another Afgan widow with a 14 year old girl who came to the Lord two weeks ago! “B” ‘s two daughters have <i>‘</i></span><i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 10pt;">also taken Jesus’</span></i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">. </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 10pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">Two Saturdays ago at her own request, together with two other Afghan men, she went through the waters of baptism!</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 10pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">“B”... a widow from Kantahar, without a covering, bereaved of a beloved husband, bereaved of protection, bereaved of family, ( her own mother would not give her shelter for fear of reprisals from the Taliban), bereaved of country, bereaved of dreams; a woman refugee in crowded Athens, is beaming. Jesus Christ has revealed Himself to her and she is taken up with His beauty.<span> </span>And this is but the beginning of her journey.</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 10pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">Our God is a Spirit. He is free to do whatever He wants, whenever He wants with whoever He wants. No existence that has been created by Him can limit him. He is not limited by words because by His Spirit He can explain the depths of God to the spirit of man. His word is not bound to human explanation and does not need human defending.</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 10pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">It is humbling but utterly true.</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 10pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">Our dear brothers and sisters, it is becoming clearer than the sun that we are swimming in a ministry that has come from God and has not to do with us. </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 10pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">We are reaping a harvest that we have not sown!</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 10pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">I wonder whose endless tears of intercession, the blood of which martyrs has reached the throne of God and has released these floods of grace, borne in His Sacred Heart for these people from the foundation of the world? It is a humbling and breath-taking question.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">In front of our eyes and in our generation the Lord is breaking the spirit of Islam, as he has done earlier with the spirit of communism. The Lord is gathering the 'travail of His soul' and He is satisfied. And we are intoxicated with just tasting a glimpse of His great joy. </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 10pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;"> Please uphold this ministry in your prayers. There is a ripe and vast harvest. Ask the Lord of the harvest to sent labourers.</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 10pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">Could we ask you to continue to pray for us; we seem to need God more than ever before.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;"><span> </span>I long so much to speak Farsi quickly.<span> </span>“B” is my teacher. Will you pray that I will be given the grace I need to learn a new language at this stage of my life? </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 10pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">And will you remember to pray for this dear woman, “B”? </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 10pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">That the Lord will heal both her and her little boy from diabetes, that her two older daughters, 9 and 14 will be healed from their sorrow and memories, that He will be establish her socially and<span> </span>spiritually in a Christian community and that she ‘will be fashioned as a corner pillar fit for His palace’.</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 10pt;"></span></div></div>Scotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16792409625047970709noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19876398.post-43007464247201365132011-04-10T18:05:00.001+03:002011-06-15T00:45:30.533+03:00Eddy's Story<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><style>
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</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">I was born in Cameroon and my mom died when I was just a child, and my dad died many years later .We were a big family and things seldom ran smoothly. I was really missing my mother, which created a vacuum in my young heart and mind, which turned into real pain and I soon began pondering the whole question of my existence.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">I obtained in those early days a vague understanding of who He really was. He, however, did not want me to remain in ignorance .My deep thoughts and reflections always put me in a position that constantly made me inquire into religious affairs. I started seeing dreams and visions of Biblical proportions that I did not understand at the time. Now I do.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">When I reached school-going age, the vacuum in my heart grew ever larger. I attended a Christian primary school where I learned the elementary things of God, and the foundation of my faith in Jesus Christ was built and I began to understand more of Jesus as my Lord and Savior.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">Many things happened that made me realize that God had many things in store for me including sharing His Good News with others. For a long time I wondered why I was the only one in such a large family who had some enlightenment in the things pertaining to God. Perhaps my innate yearning and longing for answers to some basic life questions played a big role. I remember some people being religious and believing in God in their own ways and traditions. One thing I know for sure is that God created each one of us with a vacuum that only He can fill, if people invite Him into their lives. If we pause for just a moment (even as children) to seek Him, He will reach out to us. No one exactly introduced me to God. He reached out to me because I sought Him as a child.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">My experience with God in my early years helped me in no small way. But my relationship with God began to wane when I started going to a public school. I became stubborn and did my own thing. I was largely influenced by my non-Christian friends. But the seed of God’s Word remained in me. Church became a boring routine fraught with ritualistic liturgies. My rebellion resulted in me becoming more distressed and empty. The vacuum I had experienced before returned and grew even larger. But God still had me in mind.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">I was preparing for university and at the same time I was preparing for broken-heartedness. My dad was a coffee farmer and when global coffee prices fell, my country was hard-hit as over eighty percent of the people in Cameroon base their livelihood on agriculture. This global market failure triggered an economic crisis the scale of which we had never seen before. Life was never the same again for us. Consequently, people could not care for their basic needs, let alone afford a college education in a big family like mine.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">God, however, had plans I did not know of. I found an administrative job and while there, a door of business opportunity opened and I made a fortune. The manner in which this happened convinced me without any shadow of a doubt that this was a direct intervention from God. Even though I had drifted far from God, He still held me close. My sense of God’s active presence in my life began to return slowly but surely. It was hard, but I determined not to forget my God.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">As things increasingly became unbearable in Cameroon, popular unrest ensued. There were students rioting and other political upheavals of all sorts. I was frightened and my insecurity grew as lawlessness and corruption became the order of the day. I thought I was going to lose even the little I had saved if I continued in the system. Many people carried the same conviction and began to leave the country. I was part of this mass exodus.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">Since I was financially equipped, it was not as difficult to make plans to leave the country. I therefore set out to acquire the appropriate paperwork. I met a middleman who said he would facilitate things and make it happen in no time. Little did I know that he was using my money for his own ends. He too wanted to take flight. I nearly melted with grief and anguish, and thought I would tear him in pieces if I caught him. This fellow vanished with my passport and money worth thousands of U.S. dollars.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">Instead of turning to God, I resorted to mediums for assistance in the recovery of the cash. What a mistake that was! Thank God this is a dead practice in my life today. Finally, I remembered God again and stopped all traditional and legal pursuits against this person whose trace I could not even find. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">Then God blessed me again .My business partner unexpectedly dispatched someone to rescue me financially without her knowing my plight. This was another direct intervention from God. My travel plans were therefore only hindered and not permanently thwarted.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">Quickly, I hastened to obtain any readily available visa I could lay hands on. This time I was successful and obtained a Russian student visa. I left for Russia with very limited cash in my pocket. While in Russia, I quickly discovered life as a student would be unbearable. There was nothing to do to replenish your pocket with cash if you ran out of funds. With the fear of the Russian cold which was fast approaching, I hurriedly made plans to leave. Russia in the first place was not my final destination. Finally, in September of 1997, I left Russia after nearly four months.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">I arrived in Greece in the same year and wanted to continue with my studies. I thought I would find a job and go to school at the same time. However, things were not that easy. I soon discovered I had to learn the language, which was very difficult. Thus, I settled for menial jobs in order to survive. Without any real sense of direction, I almost despaired. As a matter of fact I was dejected after just a little while in hard circumstances.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">Suddenly, my sense of God revived again in me a new spirit. I prayed and implored God on a regular basis. Soon I made some Christian friends who decided to help me get started with life afresh. I was later introduced to a church with whom I fellowshipped for seven years. While there I took some basic Christian training courses for one year. My Biblical view of God became clearer and Jesus Christ truly became my Lord and Saviour. As my spiritual hunger increased, I decided to go a step further. I enrolled in a Bible School and successfully finished my one year training course (1999-2000).</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">It was in this Bible School that I first heard about Helping Hands. Even though I was touched by what I heard about this organization and wanted to join and be a part of it, I did not do so immediately. Many years passed and I decided to finally put an end to procrastination in 2003. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">When I first came to Greece, I had dreams and aspirations nobody could talk me out of. I tried hard to create a world of my fantasies. But the more I tried, the more frustration I felt. I even enrolled in the university to boost my standing. I thought I could satisfy a restless part of me by simply acquiring more knowledge. This effort too failed. It is clear I needed wisdom from God and not a mundane knowledge that usually puffs up (THERE IS NOTHING WRONG WITH EDUCATION!!!!!!!). Without letting God at the forefront of my life, I had made plans which did not really reflect the plans He had for me.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">When God begins to fill the hollow in our hearts, we begin to feel fulfillment. My interaction with refugees who come to Helping Hands and are almost “hoping against hope” reminds me of my own state without God. Sharing the love of Christ with other Christians and with people that have hardly heard of the love of God ushers in a joy indescribable. Many times we fail because we do not allow God to mould us into the shape that best fits us. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">I want to be like the Apostle Paul who boldly confessed he was lacked on many occasions. These were not I started volunteering for this body and have been there ever since with some intermittent breaks which came in because I have had to work in some summers.only physical or material lack. At times he would desire more of God in order to grasp certain spiritual truths into the things that pertain to Him. Even though life is not easy to live, it is worth living it for God.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">I would like to thank the entire staff of International Teams in Athens who have been a good example for my emulation. My gratitude is extended as well to all those who have made invaluable inputs into my life in this country. Thanks be to God and to Jesus Christ our Saviour.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">EDDY </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div></div>Scotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16792409625047970709noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19876398.post-55991999139324150072011-04-02T21:33:00.000+03:002011-04-02T21:33:41.552+03:00Dr. Joseph<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"> <style>
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<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 14pt;">(Testimony shared at church Summer 2010)</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 14pt;">Dear brothers and sisters, kalimera sas and good morning!</span><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 14pt;">I am reading my message to you this morning so that I do not talk for too long a time.</span><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 14pt;">God’s plans are always mysterious, we plan one thing but He acts according to His plan. Also, some times we get struck by situations that are very, very difficult and almost impossible to understand, but again God has His own plan for us, showing His light and blessing upon us in a very different way. This is the case with me, a blessing in disguise, if the Islamic terrorist Taliban had not issued a death verdict against me I most probably would never have received the blessing of our Lord Jesus’ promise of salvation.</span><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 14pt;">I am greatly honored and blessed to be here as your new brother in the Lord Jesus’ name. I very much want to thank my brothers Kent Morley and Scott McCracken along with my sisters Myrna and Vicki for being the bridge between me and God. My special thanks also to brother Fotis and sister Mary for this honor to be able to proclaim to you, my brothers and sisters in Gods’ beloved family, that I am a new-born Christian and this is a day filled with grace.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 14pt;">Brothers and sisters, my story of landing in Greece is so grievous and long that to be told accurately it would probably need to be written in a novel by someone like Dostoevsky or Tolstoi.</span><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 14pt;">I have been in forced exile here for a year and a half. During this time my wife and two small children; 2.5 & 4.5 years old are forced to survive in extremely inhumane conditions. They are chased and followed everywhere by the Taliban, the great force of evil in Pakistan. The Taliban has attempted several times to bomb my family, but they have somehow, with the help of God, been able to escape.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 14pt;">Back in Pakistan I had an excellent job along with a private practice in my own hospital, but for opposing the Taliban’s inhumane barbarism I have had to pay a very high personal cost. Dear brothers and sisters I would like to request your help and that you pray for Gods’ intervention in getting my wife and children here as soon as possible. For a long time they have had to stay in an underground room in horrible conditions. </span><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 14pt;">I thank you very much for your attention and sympathies</span><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 14pt;">Your brother in Jesus’ name</span><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 14pt;">Joseph</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 14pt;">(Baptism testimony--October 2010)</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</style> </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 10pt;">Good morning, dear brothers and sisters in Jesus!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 10pt;">I am the most blessed and honored person today for being accepted into the family of God, through the Lord Jesus. But before I say something about my long journey to be embraced and blessed by the Lord Jesus into his family today here in front of you, I want to thank those who the Lord Jesus used to introduce me to this utterly new life, with new thinking, new objectives, new priorities, new challenges, and of course new sacrifices of unimaginable magnitude, for which I am absolutely prepared by heart and mind.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 10pt;">I want to thank sister Myrna and brother Kent Morley, sister Vicki and brother Scott McCracken, brother Prof Samuel Naaman from Moody Bible Institute in the USA, and sister Dr. Kholda Naaman in Pakistan for their big role of love & compassion, through which the glory and light of the Lord Jesus was revealed to me and a window of heavenly breeze opened for me. <span> </span>I feel like God was speaking to me all the times through the above-mentioned brothers and sisters. <span> </span>May the Lord shower His eternal blessing on them forever. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 10pt;">Honorable brothers and sisters, I have traveled to this point of knowing God’s acceptance for a very very long time.<span> </span>Even to tell part of the story would take longer than we have today, so I will just give you a few glimpses of it.<span> </span>The whole story may be told some time soon in future, if God is willing, you will read about it in a book.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 10pt;">Long ago, while I was a college boy, the Lord Jesus appeared to me in a dream, and asked me to follow Him.<span> </span>Then I did not give any importance to it, and had no clue about Him at all.<span> </span>The only thing I knew was that Christians are the followers of Jesus and He was man of many amazing miracles. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 10pt;">In the days following the dream, <span> </span>I started feeling utter disgust and rejection of the Islam I was seeing, for the degree of its hypocrisy, hatred, sanctioned killings of non-Muslims and suspected apostates (jihad) in the name of Allah, double standards, and so many more things made me revolt and subsequently abandon Islam for the rest of my life.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 10pt;">In 2006, in northwestern Pakistan, the Taliban started consolidations on the behalf of the Pakistani government and army.<span> </span>Overnight, I was transferred to Waziristan where, under immense pressure from the US and other western countries, Pakistan had to (unwillingly) move its army against the Taliban hideouts in the area. <span> </span>Perhaps it was similar to the Apostle Paul’s situation when the Jews could not prove their allegation against him so they tried to persuade Governor Festus to transfer him for trial in Jerusalem where they had planned a plot to kill him.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 10pt;">Because since then, and even now, I have been leading a large covert anti-Taliban and anti-jihad organization in Pakistan.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 10pt;">I am certain now that the Lord Jesus was my protector then and now, who saved me during every difficult and life-threatening circumstance I was facing.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 10pt;">It was just a year ago when I had the opportunity to chat with brother Kent Morley and Scott McCracken in the Morleys’ home.<span> </span>It was then that brother Scott introduced me to the Gospel of the Lord Jesus, the son of God.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 10pt;">Though honestly it was not my intention to believe in, or to follow, Jesus but after spending time studying the Bible I began to learn more, and to see more clearly with every passing day of my learning about Him, I found Him to be mine and the only true savior of all of us, and the whole world!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 10pt;">Dear brothers and sisters, following the Lord Jesus has totally overhauled the whole pattern of my life, my apprehensions, my outlook on world matters, my personal and family life, and my approach toward friends and enemies, through the lessons of compassion, love, forgiveness, repentance and service with love and integrity, for which I am grateful to the Lord from the core of my heart and mind.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 10pt;">As I mentioned earlier, I have not been following Islam for long time now, even though it is my ancestral religion and practiced by my family and the whole region of about 20 million people.<span> </span>For all these people it is beyond imagination for someone to commit apostasy from Islam or conversion to another religion.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 10pt;">As you know, apostasy in Islam (according to Sharia law) is punishable by death.<span> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 10pt;">Not only that, but the area I am from, if my conversion becomes public knowledge, unimaginable violence<span> </span>will be unleashed upon every relative and villager in the whole area by the evil forces of Islamic fanatics and jihadists. <span> </span>This is the only region in the world where, after the fall of Afghanistan, the barbaric Taliban version of Islamic Sharia laws were introduced, sanctioned, and ratified by the government of Pakistan.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 10pt;">My home in Pakistan was destroyed through bombing and arson last year.<span> </span>My parents have escaped to refugee camps since then. My father was detained twice by the Taliban for interrogations and intimidations against me, inhumanely treated, beaten, starved and humiliated.<span> </span>My wife and children are persistently receiving threats and intimidations by phone.<span> </span>They have to hide and are compelled to move hiding from place to place very often and continuously. <span> </span>My friends and associates, with whom we have worked against Taliban and Islamic brutalities have been silenced through bombings, slaughters, and public hanging of their corpses for lessons to all.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 10pt;">With all this and many more very acrid unbelievable hard and tough memories and series of savageries, I hereby forgive all these Islamic apostles of Satan in the name and glory of the Lord Jesus, because He has taught us to love our enemies.<span> </span>But certainly I would ask you to pray for real miracles of the Lord’s glory and path of salvation in the heart and souls of every Muslim in particular and others in general.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 10pt;">I don’t remember the names of all the brothers and sisters in this Nea Zoee church, except a very few like sister Litsa, Tanya, Carolina, brother Panos, and Ryan Brown who have been always concerned for me and very compassionate, and persistently praying for the safety and protection of my family from the wrath of the Taliban. Thanks to them all.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 10pt;">I thank all of you, and particularly brother Fotis and sister Mary for making this occasion of my new beginning with the Lord Jesus so wonderful and memorable in this beautiful resort place on this great<span> </span>blessed Sunday.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 10pt;">I thank you all for the attention and time.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div>Scotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16792409625047970709noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19876398.post-83043068262887409942011-03-13T19:50:00.000+02:002011-03-13T19:50:30.515+02:00"H" is now our BROTHER!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><span style="font-family: Verdana,Helvetica,Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14px;">"H" is a 24-year-old Afghan born and raised by Afghan refugees in Iran who has been living with us for the last 6 weeks. In the first few weeks he would frequently say things like, “Scott, talk about Jesus” or “Talk about sin” or “Talk about grace”, etc. If I tried to talk about anything else, he would say, “Why did you change the subject?! Talk about Jesus!”<br />
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Two Fridays ago, while waiting together for a bus, I said, "H, talk to me...about Jesus." He paused with a very serious look on his face and said, "Honestly...honestly...nothing else...I see Jesus in you."<br />
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Well, I have to say I was momentarily stunned and had to choke back my emotions. Of course, I immediately told him that if he saw ANYTHING good in me it was because of Jesus because I know (especially in these days) how dark and sinful my heart really is.<br />
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This past Friday, while riding the us together, he turned to me and said, "...Scott, will you baptize me...?" When I asked him why he wanted to be baptized, he replied, "Because I believe in Jesus." I asked, "The REAL Jesus or the Jesus of Islam? The Jesus of the Bible or the Jesus of the Koran?" He answered, "The real Jesus! The Jesus of the Bible!" <br />
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As we talked more that night and the next day it became clear that his journey toward Jesus had, in the last week or so, drawn him to the place where he was ready to risk being disowned by his family and rejected or hurt by others to leave the religion he was strongly indoctrinated in all his life to follow Jesus as his God and Savior. Apparently he called out to Jesus to help him overcome some strong temptations that he had never before been able to withstand, and Jesus helped him. To him these were like "signs" that Jesus is more powerful and he wants to trust in Him.<br />
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Please continue to pray for "H", for his growth in Christ, for his safety, and for continued guidance from God about where he is supposed to go and what he is supposed to do.</span></span></div>Scotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16792409625047970709noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19876398.post-89186099411793020982010-12-05T07:32:00.000+02:002010-12-05T07:32:32.082+02:00Gm's Story“Gm” left Afghanistan in order to pursue an education. It’s widely known that women in Afghanistan were denied educational opportunities under the Taliban. In certain regions, however, even men (especially men from certain minority ethnic groups, like “Gm”) were denied much beyond an elementary education. “Gm” was not satisfied with this. He dreamed of learning English and French, the “languages of education” as “Gm” put it. This hunger to learn led “Gm” to flee Afghanistan for Pakistan, and then India before eventually turning westward to Europe.<br />
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“Gm” first heard about Jesus in India. Since then, God’s Spirit has continued to pursue him. <b>Now, roughly nine years later (!), “Gm” is ready to follow Jesus.</b> As an Afghan, “Gm” faces almost certain rejection from family and friends. <br />
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<b>When asked how his Muslim family will respond when they learn of his decision to follow Jesus, "Gm" responded, "My family will become my first enemies I will need to learn to love in the way of Jesus."</b><br />
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So what can compel such risk? <b>Love.</b> Legalism and moralism cannot provide the courage to risk. “Gm” says that understanding the love of God, however, compels him to risk <i>everything</i>. Jesus on the cross paints the picture clearly: <b>God is love</b>. It is this love that has wooed “Gm” for nearly a decade, and now it is this love to which “Gm” surrenders his life. Jesus lords over us in love. “Gm” gets it, and now has given his life to it.<br />
Please pray for “Gm”. He asks specifically for boldness in living and sharing his faith. Pray for God’s love to be all the more evident to “Gm” as the persecution and rejection of the world begins. Also, “Gm” still has a great passion for learning; I know that he would appreciate greatly if you would pray that God would provide an opportunity for formal education. Thanks for your prayers; thanks for standing with us!Scotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16792409625047970709noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19876398.post-56595314990436411042009-09-18T09:40:00.003+03:002013-03-13T18:30:51.807+02:00"J' 's Journey on the Refugee Highway<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Most of “J” ’s life and experiences in Afghanistan would be the normal collection of variables that construct our lives. His father was very religious, but also considered modern and open minded. “J”, as a dignified and kindhearted man, defined himself as a mischievous boy and a jokester. Like so many of us, the years that led him to adulthood were shaped by normalcy rather than trauma, by incidental moments rather than momentous incidents. This was also the pattern of his life woven by marriage, four children, five years (required) in the military, and a life career of teaching.</div>
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However, 2006 would be the year of unraveling. “J” had become increasingly aware of an internal searching for truth. The Dari poetry he studied and taught asked questions about truth and God that echoed unanswered within himself and within the structure of Islam. Even though “J” ’s favorite Persian poet was not free within Islam to write openly of the things he believed, he stirred questions within “J” that required answers. “The God is in you and near you so why are you seeking for God so far away?” A similar message; “Why do you go so far to Mecca, the one who loves you is here.” These questions were stirring at a time when “J” was also questioning Islamic thought. He would wait with the poet for Islam to answer the charge, “Why would you kill a person for saying God lives in me”? “J” inaudibly voiced his own questions. “If we believe in the prophet Jesus how can we kill or dismember someone because they become a Christian? How can it be true that a woman is only half the value of a man? Why must women suffer so many injustices simply because they are not men?”</div>
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As these thoughts were fermenting in “J”, his daughter had secretly become a follower of Jesus. She worked as a journalist for a private TV station, and was associated with the BBC. In this role she met non-Muslim people from around the world, one of whom gave her a Bible and told her the basic good news about Jesus. Being unsure of how any Muslim will react to news of someone becoming a Christian she gave her father a Bible and told him that she knew he was very open-minded and she thought he would enjoy reading it. He and his wife read, studied and asked questions. Later with the help of an underground pastor they accepted Jesus as their savior and Lord. “J” says now with conviction and the gratefulness that characterizes him, “I praise God that the Holy Spirit brought me to the truth before my life was over.”</div>
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Just as the honest conviction of this decision began unraveling the pattern of his thinking, beliefs and actions so the setting in which that decision was made would set in motion the very painful unraveling of the normal, worry-free pattern of his everyday life. “J” and his family began meeting secretly in their home every week with a small group of Christians. Though there are many such groups in Afghanistan, they do not associate with each other for fear of drawing attention to themselves or putting so many at risk if one person is arrested. They continue to assemble knowing that the crime of converting to Christianity is met with the swift and sure sword of beheading. It was in the ever-present shadow of this reality that “J” answered the life-altering knock at his door that Sunday morning as the small group huddled together for worship, study and support. Between the front door of his house that he would never see again and the small, waiting white car, he was beaten, accused of being a blasphemer and judged to be “one who needed to be killed.” In a miraculous moment when God stepped in to be the abundant provision for “J” ’s overwhelming need, the little white car was involved in an accident. In the ensuing, God-stirred swirl of confusion “J” found an opportunity to escape. The remainder of that anxious day was spent knee-deep in water underneath a concealing bridge. When the welcomed darkness assumed the role of concealing him he washed off what mud he could and found a taxi to take him to a trusted friend’s house. The friend was not trusted enough to permit “J” to confide the true reason for his predicament, but trusted enough to be asked for shelter and aid. His friend visited “J” ’s neighborhood the following day, claiming to be a friend who had come to stay, but was perplexed to find a large padlock on the door. The neighbors were equally puzzled and unable to supply additional details, but the padlock and absent family members were enough to convince “J” that he would need to flee. </div>
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A three-month stay, a momentary rest in a small anywhere town was the first exit on what was now “J” ’s personal journey down the labyrinth of injustice and peril known as “the refugee highway”. In a few moments strangers had separated him from his family, his house and all he owned. As casually as they had destroyed his cell phone they had also decimated his identity as a trusted and dignified teacher. He found work at a small restaurant where he was permitted to stay until he moved on toward Mazar-E-Sharif, avoiding anywhere he might be recognized and arrested.</div>
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He spent the next year-and-a-half on the outskirts of Mazar-E-Sharif cocooned in anxiety, unsure of the fate of his wife and family, and unable to identify any landmark of hope on the barren landscape of his future. Here he reconnected with another trusted friend from his past when he had spent time studying and teaching in Mazar-E-Sharif. This friend was open-minded and allowed "J" to stay and work in his small shop, knowing that he was hiding because of his faith. Even though he had quickly escaped the authorities who came to arrest him, fear and anxiety created a very real prison from which he needed to free himself. Four thousand euros was the price of freedom, or more accurately, the price of an <i>attempt</i> at freedom. No guarantees. No credible promises. No cash-on-delivery clause. This was not the price of a first class ticket to Somewhere Europe. This did not pay for a one-way luxury cruise of the Mediterranean. This was merely a toll to merge with the other human traffic on the heavily traveled refugee highway. The path paved with greed, striped with blood, and littered with the remains of those whose tenuous thread of hope snapped under the unbearable weight of hardship.</div>
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The details of “J” ’s journey from Afghanistan to Greece, like an echo of the trip itself, remain concealed in the shadows of secrecy. The belief that every human has intrinsic value and by virtue of existence has worth, deserving of respect, is shown to be an evaporating mirage on this harsh landscape. A traveler here is not a person to be escorted, but a commodity to be shipped. They are bartered, loaded and unloaded, stacked, herded and often abandoned as “undeliverable cargo.” “J” was smuggled from Afghanistan to Iran, then from Iran to Turkey and finally from Turkey to Greece. He was passed from smuggler to smuggler, traveling at night sometimes in a vehicle, other times on horseback, which had cost him extra, and when necessary he traveled on foot. The refugee highway is a grueling labyrinth meandering through treacherous territory. Its travelers may get lost, robbed, beaten, starved, abandoned and otherwise abused. “J” says simply, “You would have to see it to understand.” To set foot on this path, like venturing out onto a tightrope, is to acknowledge that you may be choosing suicide. “You must accept”, “J” states, “that this journey may lead to death.”</div>
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If the trip to Turkey is a perilous pathway it is here that it becomes a nearly vertical descent down the face of despair. Usually by the time refugees board whatever craft is provided for launching onto the sea that surrounds the many islands of Greece, they have heard the sobering stories of sunken rafts and bodies washed up on the beaches. They have heard of heartless smugglers who threw their human cargo to the waves in hopes of saving themselves. Their fears are higher than the waves splashing in over the sides of the boat and their hopes are riding lower than the overcrowded vessels in the water. For “J” this journey in one of three rafts pulled by a small motorboat was thankfully uneventful, bringing them to the welcomed shore of a Greek island.</div>
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Here the villagers were helpful and kind as “J” walked with another man for two days and one night, searching for a police station where they could register to seek asylum. The next twelve days were spent in a refugee detention center where they were fingerprinted and given temporary papers. From here they were taken by boat to the port of Piraeus on the mainland of Greece near the capital of Athens. To most this seems like a welcomed initiation into the European Union – the first days of a better and more prosperous life. Unfortunately it most often is the curtain rising on a modern Greek tragedy where Act IV finds the refugees no closer to the normal life they were seeking tin Act I. </div>
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Happily, “J” ’s story stands in sharp contrast to the experience of the majority of refugees who find themselves in the bureaucratic quagmire of Greece. However, “J”, like so many, spent his first two nights in Athens sleeping in an exposed park. There were many other countrymen from Afghanistan who congregated there during the day. It was during a conversation in the park that he heard the surprising good news. His family was living </div>
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in a European country! He had wondered for two-and-a-half years whether his family was dead or alive and if he would ever see them again. Now incredibly he was being told where they lived and given their phone number by someone he met in the park! “J” recounted the poignant scene of the reuniting phone call. “I cried and my son laughed and laughed. I talked and my daughter cried. My wife and I could not speak, we just wept.”</div>
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Through a series of connections and introductions “J” walked through the doors of “Helping Hands”, a group in Athens dedicated to showing the love of Jesus to refugees. A fellow Farsi-speaker was able to help “J” visit the embassy of the country where his family was living. Miraculously and quickly he was granted the coveted papers that would allow him to travel. Any attempt at explaining why “J” sailed through the often endless process and was allowed to move on from Athens legally would be simplistic and misleading. Simplistic because there are endless combinations of factors both legal and arbitrary that intertwine in the process. Misleading in that “J” ’s experience might cause you to naively believe that anyone who has a legitimate or compelling claim will surely meet with compassion and ultimately be rewarded with justice.</div>
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Looking beyond the insidious injustice of religious fanatics and his own subsequent suffering in the quest to survive, “J” would love to return to Afghanistan. “Two things are always near to your heart”, he offers; “your mother and your country.” Through the eye of the TV camera and the words of the foreign correspondents, we see an Afghanistan with its enchantment and natural beauty covered with the dust and debris of conflict. Much of the destruction has come from outsiders, but perhaps mostly from within. Islam has not only failed to unite these people, but sets its “holy warriors” against each other in their attempt to be the sole purveyors of truth. At the age of sixty “J” must wonder if his hijacked country can ever be the good and safe place where he longs to return.</div>
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At the moment, “J” has found rest and safety like a ship at last anchored in a sheltered harbor, finding refuge from an unrelenting sea of hardship. From this current vantage point he looks back on Afghanistan with a sadness fathered by frustration and nurtured by disappointments, questioning whether things will ever change. For thirty years his country has suffered through constant conflict and repressive restrictions. “The last seven years have seen foreign intervention and the establishment of a parliament. Millions and billions of dollars have been spent, but where has it gone? There is a shortage of water, electricity and jobs. Many parents are willing to send their children on a dangerous journey, hoping they can find prosperity and send needed money back to their waiting families only to lose them to one of the many landmines of drugs or hopelessness or death hidden along the way. “Here in Athens”, “J” summarizes, “people bring their fruit to the market to sell. In the markets in Afghanistan they sell their daughters.”</div>
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Though hardship embitters some men, it has stirred gratefulness in “J”. Though he knows he believed in Jesus “with an honest heart” in Afghanistan, he is grateful to his family of Christian brothers and sisters at Helping Hands in Athens for showing him the life of Jesus in action. He wants to extend that same hand to others wherever he sees the need. “J” and his story are for me (and hopefully for you) a nudge, reminding us of the incalculable treasure hidden within each soul we meet and the immense privilege we are granted to become for them the enlivening embrace and the helping hands of Jesus. </div>
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Scotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16792409625047970709noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19876398.post-38593339075261414602009-06-26T23:04:00.000+03:002009-06-26T23:05:23.135+03:00Kurdish "A" 's Storyhere is a recent testimony we would like to share with you (written by our Iranian teammate Nader)...<br /><br /><br />It was Tuesday morning at the Athens Refugee Center when "A", the Kurdish man showed up looking for someone who can speak with him in Farsi. He said he was a member of the Democratic Party of Kurdistan in Iraq for 4 years (where they taught them to fight with gun for freedom).<br /><br /><br />"I had no interest for religion and God but my interest was for a new gun and new tactics for fighting," he said. It took 15 days for him to come to Athens through the smugglers who he paid 4,000 Euros. He stayed with other Kurdish people in Athens.<br /><br /><br />One night he saw a dream. In his dream somebody was calling him. He looked up and saw writing in the sky he couldn't read. He heard again the voice calling him, saying, "Come to Me". He woke up crying and shaking. He told the other Kurdish guys about his dream, hoping they could help him understand. They told him to go to the religious people and ask them about his dream, and they directed him to our ministry center.<br /><br /><br />He came and told about his dream. I was listening to his entire story and I said, "I don't know what it means, but I knew God is calling you to come to Him." I talked about God and told him that for many years he fought for freedom and peace that he never received; today maybe is the time for you to receive it through Jesus...not by guns, but by faith in Him. I told him several verses in the Bible and he listened attentively.<br /><br /><br />He took my hand and started to cry. He didn't care about all the hundreds of people around us even though I tried to stop him. I gave him a Bible to read alone for himself and come back to ask any questions he had. When I was ready to leave him alone, he took my hand again and he said, "If I read the Bible and want to receive Him, what shall I do?" I said, "Just open your heart and let Him come into your life. He said, "Can we do that now?"<br /><br /><br />So we prayed and he invited Christ into his life! I was so happy and grateful to God to bring him to Himself. I was happy to see what God is doing in the heart of people. Then we prayed together. Pray for "A" and other like him who come to know the Lord. And thank you for all your prayers for every soul for salvation. May God bless you for being part of what God is doing in the Refugee Ministry here in Athens.Scotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16792409625047970709noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19876398.post-38139759700850102712009-06-26T23:00:00.001+03:002009-06-26T23:03:10.481+03:00Earthquake Loss and Eternal GainIn our last email we mentioned about the young Afghan man who raised his hand and came forward to receive Jesus without fear from people. He is an amazing guy. His name is "M," 23 years of age. I was amazed with his story every time he spoke to me. It seems like he is very spiritual boy.<br /><br /><br />"M" Testimony: My father was always telling me to pray. Early in the morning, it became my habit to go out of the house to clean myself before praying by washing my face, hands and feet. One Friday morning, I came out to wash myself for prayer. When I was just ready to open the faucet, the earthquake came. Everything I could see was shaking. I could not move where I was standing. I trembled with fear. I saw everything was falling down and I saw the earth was opened and all houses came down and were swallowed by the earth. Everything came down, with not one stone above another. All was dust on the surface. I cried and cried and tried to dig the earth to find my family inside. But I lost them. I could not find them. I never saw anybody survive in the place where I lived. I was all alone and helpless. I just cried and cried like crazy.<br /><br /><br />I asked him, "Where did it happen? M... said "It happened in Bam. Many countries came to help us. They dug the earth and also found my family's bodies. They showed me their pictures. They buried all the dead together. I lost my family and relatives in the Bam earthquake.<br /><br /><br />I went to Afghanistan. Some of my relatives lived there. They thought I was crazy and thought it was better for me to have a wife. But this did not solve my problem. I wanted to find my life. I came back to Bam and it looked so different. Many new houses and buildings were constructed.<br /><br /><br />So I decided to leave and I came to Athens." "When I came to Athens, the first thing that touched me was the cross on top of the Greek Church. There was a strange feeling for me. I became interested about it to know Christianity. I came to the Persian Fellowship two times and did not come back again.<br /><br /><br />Then I had a dream about the Lord, and came back to this place and asked for a Bible, but my two uncles strictly forbade me from coming to this Fellowship again. But my uncles were not able to stop my heart's desire to know about Christianity. For two years I have been reading that Bible you gave me. I came to know Jesus through the Bible. Last Monday, I saw that dream again. In that same dream a man told me that I must be born again. For three days I tried to find you but I could not."<br /><br /><br />And I asked him, "What will happen if your two uncles find out that you became a believer in Jesus?" M... answered me (speaking of the Judgment Day), "In that day, my uncles cannot save me." "In the place where I live with some friends and two uncles when they saw me reading the Bible, they spoke badly to me, but what pains me is when they speak bad words about Jesus. So, I stopped reading the Bible and waited for them to sleep. When they were sleeping I woke up and read the Bible with the small flashlight."<br /><br /><br />I showed him a postal envelope that we had received just this past week at Helping Hands. It had his name on the return address. Inside was an evangelistic booklet with the boxes checked about wanting more information and wanting to accept Jesus.<br /><br /><br />M... said, "I sent it to the address I found on the evangelistic booklet a month ago. I found that booklet from a friend's house and sent it back with the answers. I was touched with his situation and asked my friend to give him a space to stay with him. Pray for this young Afghan man named "M"... for his growth and that God would keep him for Himself.Scotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16792409625047970709noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19876398.post-23475695948947858352009-06-26T22:56:00.002+03:002009-06-26T22:59:02.193+03:00Gregor's StoryGregor was a 24 year-old artist from Albania. Although open to spiritual matters during initial contact with International Teams missionaries, his English was severely limited (and our Albanian was non-existent). After viewing the "Jesus" video in his mother tongue, it was obvious that he was very moved. When asked his opinion about it he said that as a movie it was not so special but as he watched it he began to think, "What if these things about Jesus are true? What if He is really like this?" He said that there was like a battle going on between his head and his heart, and at the end of the film he had prayed the "sinner's prayer" and asked Jesus into his heart.<br /><br /><br />Although he had prayed the "sinner's prayer" on that day, it was really about a week later when during a follow-up visit that the message of the Gospel was clearly understood by Gregor. It was as if a light had clicked on. From that day, Gregor had an insatiable hunger for God's Word, a passionate desire to do God's will, and a consuming burden for the lost. Although meek and mild-mannered in his personality, Gregor has been gifted by the Holy Spirit with the gift of evangelism and has been instrumental in leading many other Albanians to the Lord.<br /><br /><br />While Gregor was still in Athens he led to the Lord his parents, a cousin, and half a dozen friends IN ALBANIA through correspondence with them. As a result they started a home fellowship in Shkoder, through which others came to the Lord. In Athens, Gregor led (or helped lead) several Albanians to the Lord, including his sister, brother-in-law, and his Muslim room-mate. Gregor's English quickly and dramatically improved. He spent large quantities of time in prayer, discipleship studies, and evangelism training.<br /><br /><br />Before he had come to Christ it had always been his dream to leave Albania and try to get to America where he would be free to express his artistic gifts. However, now he began to sense that God was calling him to return as a witness to his fellow countrymen.<br /><br /><br />In October 1992, Gregor returned to his home city, certain of God's calling on his life but unclear about how to implement it. He later entered a YWAM DTS (in cooperation with Frontiers) in Tirana that had a special emphasis on church-planting in Albania. A team was formed and an outreach in Shkoder resulted in a church plant that continues to grow in impact until this day. They have been active in evangelistic outreach to remote mountain villages in Albania as well as their own city. They were active during the Kosovar refugee crisis (at the request of the government and in cooperation with a few other churches) in running a transit center for 3,000 refugees a day, and developing an outreach program to them out of their church. They have been active in both evangelistic and discipleship ministry in Kosovo.<br /><br /><br />Some time after Gregor's parents came to the Lord they entered a YWAM DTS and were both used to lead people to the Lord and help plant the first church ever in a mountain city of 15,000 previously unreached for Christ. One of the young men they led to Christ became a part of that church plant and later joined Campus Crusade for Christ where he not only actively shared his faith with others but was very active in ministry around the country training others to share their faith as well. Now he works for World Vision. <br /><br /><br />Gregor and his wife Kela, with their two young boys, moved to Kosovo in January 2004 to begin a church-planting ministry there. They currently (as of 2009) have 3 boys and are on a team with other missionaries in the area, and are all working in unity to bring Kosovars to Jesus.Scotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16792409625047970709noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19876398.post-4206286621036878112008-08-24T20:55:00.002+03:002008-08-24T21:02:41.575+03:00"RA's" Story<p align="center"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;"><b>An Afghan Refugee’s Story</b></span><br /></p> <p align="center"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:85%;">“From as early as I can remember, I have known nothing but sadness and trouble.”</span><br /></p> <p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;">My name is "RA" and I am 19 years old. I was born in Kabul, Afghanistan, on May 15, 1988. I am the youngest of four children. I had two brothers, who were abducted by Taliban military forces and never seen again. I will tell you more about them later. I also have one sister, who is now 25, married and living in Kabul.</span><br /></p> <p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;">I do not have many memories of my early years in Kabul. In fact I remember practically nothing. I do remember that my mother got coupons from the government that she could redeem for food and other items. She would get biscuits and bring them home, then I would sell them to my brothers. So I became a businessman from a very early age! </span><br /><br /></p> <p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;">Once (I am told) my uncles had many guests over, and I woke up after they had left and saw a small glass of clear liquid on the table. Thinking it was water, I drank it down in one gulp. But it was vodka! Since I was very young and small, I got drunk, and everybody says I was crying and yelling and saying that I just wanted to die!</span><br /></p> <p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;">When I was about 5, we moved to Samangan in northern Afghanistan. We lived in Samangan for about 3 years, then we moved to Mazar-e-sharif in a neighboring province. My family owns property there, but we only lived there about a year before moving back to Samangan, because times were very difficult. One of the abiding memories of my early years is that we moved often.</span><br /></p> <p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;">I was basically a very quiet kid, but the second time we moved to Samangan I had some friends that I played with. We played with knives, slings, and slingshots, fighting against other teams of boys. Even though I was small, I helped prepare the stones and things like that. Some of the boys even made their own “guns.” At the arranged time we would gather and shoot at each other, but because we lived in an area where there were terrible dust storms, you couldn’t even seen the other boys or who you were shooting at. If you got hit in the face with a stone, you couldn’t tell who had shot it. It was a very rough game.</span><br /></p> <p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;">My father had been killed when I was one year old, so of course I never knew him or have any memory of him. I only know him from pictures. Though all my family were Muslims, my father was also a committed communist. He lived in Russia for six years prior to marrying my mom, and had been trained there as a pilot. After my three older siblings were born, they lived in Russia for another six years. By the time I was born my father was a high-ranking officer in the Afghan military, though some rivals in the government had stripped him of some of this authority. Still, he was head over all the airports in Afghanistan.</span><br /></p> <p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;">[Note: There were two main wings in the communist government of Afghanistan, the People’s Democratic Party of Afghanistan: Parcham (Banner) and Khalq (the People). After an initial period of cooperation following its founding in 1965, the PDPA lapsed into factionalism. In 1978, at Soviet prodding, the two sides reunited and overthrew and killed President Daoud Mohammed, a coup that is known as the April (Saur) Revolution. The PDPA proclaimed the Democratic Republic of Afghanistan, yet this marked the end of Khalq-Parcham amity. What "RA" briefly relates below took place on June 10, 1989, following the Soviet withdrawal from Afghanistan, which lasted from May 15, 1988, to February 15, 1989. President Najibullah (formerly head of the Afghan security forces modeled after the KGB) was the USSR’s puppet, having replaced his fellow Parchami Babrak Karmal in 1986, when Gorbachev had declared that Afghanistan had been transformed into “a bleeding wound.” Even within the Parchami, as might be expected, Najibullah’s support was not uniform.]</span><br /></p> <p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;">My father was Khalqi, while the president of the country at that time, Najibullah, was Parchami. My father, along with several other Khalqi leaders, were invited to Kandahar to attend some government meetings and negotiations. On the flight to these meetings, the plane apparently exploded in midair and all aboard were killed. According to witnesses, for a while the plane flew with one wing. Three people, including one of the pilots, actually jumped from the plane before it hit the ground. The rest of the people in the plane were burned up. Altogether there were 57 people who died, including women and children. We believe that a bomb had been planted on board the airplane by Najibullah’s Parchami loyalists prior to the flight, who in one blow wiped out several key Khalqi leaders. Of course we will never know for sure what happened</span><br /></p> <p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;">[Further note: "RA’s" father’s death most probably can be blamed on internal Afghan political strife, at a tumultuous time in that nation’s history, when Najibullah may have been concerned about consolidating power in the face of uncertain times following the Soviet withdrawal. There is a remarkable parallel incident that occurred on August 17, 1988, about a year earlier. President Zia-al-Huq of Pakistan, General Akhtar, who headed the ISI (Pakistan’s secret service) for most of the Soviet war in Afghanistan, U.S. Ambassador Arnold Raphel, the U.S. military attaché, and eight Pakistani generals, all died in a plane crash near Islamabad, shortly after takeoff to return to the capital after a secret mission to a desert area to watch a demonstration of the M-1 Abrams tank. Pakistani and U.S. investigators were unable to confirm (so they reported) that the plane was bombed, and some who observed its erratic flight and noted the cockpit silence before the crash, believe they were gassed. The Soviet Union, the government of India, Bhutto's People Party, Zia's own military, the CIA, Afghan communists, Israel’s Mossad, and Shi’ite separatist groups operating in Pakistan all came under suspicion, but no culprit was ever found. Democracy was restored in Pakistan and Benazir Bhutto, whose father Zulfikar Ali Bhutto had been executed by Zia, was elected prime minister in November 1988.] </span><br /></p> <p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;">After my father died, my mom didn’t want to have anything to do with me. Somehow, she blamed me for being “bad luck” which resulted in my father’s death. Several years before my father’s death, one of my mom’s brothers, who was a commander of security guards in Kabul, had been gruesomely killed by the mujahideen. Now her grief was overwhelming, and it seemed she was crying all the time. She simply was in no shape to care for a baby, so basically she said, “Here, take him.” I was raised and cared for by my grandfather and grandmother, my mother’s parents. They were very kind to me and I became very close to them, especially to my grandfather. He was the strongest influence in my early childhood. I miss him very much even today, and I find it difficult to talk to him on the phone without becoming very emotional. </span><br /></p> <p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;">I lived with a large group of extended family. This included my mother, my sister and two brothers, my grandparents, and two uncles (my mother’s brothers), and their wives and children. After my father died, they all came to stay with us and we were always together for the remainder of my time in Afghanistan. When we sat down to a meal together, it was a large group of people! I have memories of lots of children running around. Sometimes things were quite noisy. I remember once one of my uncles and his wife had a disagreement over disciplining one of their children. He told her not to beat the child but she did anyway. He then started beating her, chasing her all through the house! Another time one of my aunts dared to gossip about my mother in the presence of one of her younger brothers. In defense of my mother’s honor, she had boiling water thrown on her face, and you can see the scars to this day.</span><br /></p> <p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;">Though I didn’t go to school at all while we lived in Mazar-e-sharif, I attended school during the Samangan years, and I was a quiet and good boy. My friends and I did our school work and always knew more even than the older boys. They bullied us and beat us, forcing us to give them the answers for tests.</span><br /></p> <p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;">One day when I was about 9 years old and in the 5<sup>th</sup> grade, I had a bad fall and broke my arm. What happened was this. A couple of older boys in the high school were taken out into the school yard to be disciplined, either because they hadn’t done their school work or they had disrespected the teacher, I’m not sure which. We all crowded around the window to watch their punishment, which consisted of being beaten with a rod on the bottoms of their feet. This was to show the whole school what would happen to anyone who misbehaved. Since I was small and the window was high on the wall, I climbed up with one foot on the window sill and one foot on the back of a chair. At one point somebody yelled at us to get down from there, and since everybody moved quickly, I fell backward and landed awkwardly on my arm, breaking it badly. I was in terrible pain. I went running up to the Koran teacher and showed him that I had broken my arm. He said, “What do I care? Get out of here!” So I went to the principal and his son took me to get help.</span><br /></p> <p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;">The unkindness and cruelty of this man made a bad impression on me concerning Islam. It was not something I wanted.</span><br /></p> <p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;">I was raised Muslim, and my mother and her parents considered themselves devout. My grandfather wasn’t a mullah, but he knew the Koran better than they did, and sometimes he would mock them. He had a special book that he kept with his copy of the Koran that he sometimes pulled down to read. He wouldn’t allow anybody to look at it or touch it, but he would read it and kiss it, then carefully put it back. My mom believes it was a copy of the Injil (New Testament). But she never talked to him or asked him about it out of respect. </span><br /></p> <p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;">We used to get up at 5:30 AM to go to the mosque to read the Koran at 6:00. That’s why I know the Koran so well. But in reality, I did not like learning Arabic and studying the Koran at all. During Ramadan, they usually wouldn’t allow me to fast because I was too young. I wanted to but they wouldn’t allow it. I used to pray to God and ask for his help when something happened or I wanted something. Sometimes I went to the mosque to pray. But to be honest, I only wanted to impress people and let them see what a good person I was. I wanted to show my grandfather and my mother that I was a godly person. I didn’t really go to the mosque to worship God or pray but to show off. </span><br /></p> <p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;">My mother’s side of the family claims direct descent from the prophet Mohammad. When my grandfather went out in public people came up to him and called him “Sir” and kissed his hand. He even had a piece of paper that showed his genealogy, that proved he was “Sayed,” that is, someone whose ancestry can be traced all the way back to Mohammad. He was quite a character and loved making people think he was crazy, by the way he dressed or the way he wore his beard. Yet, he was highly respected by the people, and he was even a friend of the king, Zahir Shah. He spent a lot of time with him and often went hunting with him.</span><br /></p> <p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;">I had a good relationship with my sister and brothers, even though they were a good bit older. Sometimes we would play fight and wrestle, or play cards, or play with remote control toys they got from Russia. But I was actually a very quiet kid and usually stayed at home and stayed near my grandfather. He used to paint and repair things around the house and work in the garden. So I watched him and was his helper. My grandmother was a very kind man.</span><br /></p> <p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;">The house we lived in was nice (in Samangan and Mazar-e-sharif). We had lots of land that we hired workers to farm. We also had many farm animals. At one time we had 500 sheep with their lambs, and one of my uncles for a while was the shepherd. We also had many goats, cows, donkeys and chickens. Before we left we sold all of these animals to help finance our trip.</span><br /></p> <p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;">Near Samangan, my grandfather owned a cave that had been fixed up like a house. It was very large and many people could fit in there. I remember we had to go hide there once, one of the few times I remember being really scared. It was very dark inside the cave and there were all kinds of noises around us. A bomb was dropped near the opening of the cave but fortunately it didn’t go off.</span><br /></p> <p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;">Mostly I remember that there was always fighting going on around us and we moved often. We actually would have had a very good life if not for all the fighting and war around us constantly. We had servants who did the washing and cleaning and bread baking, though my mother and aunts did the cooking. But there was always a cloud of uncertainty that hung over us. All of it could be taken away in a moment. </span><br /></p> <p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;">In 1997, before I turned 9 years old, we moved to Mazar-e-sharif and lived there for about a year. It was a very difficult time in Afghanistan. The Taliban had come to power, and they were still fighting to control all areas of the country. The northern areas were not under Taliban control yet, but there was heavy fighting. We constantly heard the sounds of shooting. One of my uncles was a commander with the mujahideen. Another of my uncles was a Talib. Amazingly, they often lived under the same roof. </span><br /></p> <p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;">In our home there was a shelf with a bread basket on it. But instead of holding bread it had eight hand grenades in it. This was a normal thing for many households to have weapons and munitions stored inside the house. One day I was playing with my cousins and we hit the shelf and the basket of grenades fell over and rolled on the floor. Thank God, they didn’t explode. I could very easily have been killed! Often I saw my brothers handling guns, and once one of them actually fired the gun inside the house. The adults scolded him and said, “Go outside to play with that!”</span></p> <p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;"><br />In one incident in 1997, after the Taliban had finally taken control of Mazar-e-sharif, Hazara forces combined with Uzbeks and other groups and trapped and killed around 5,000 Taliban soldiers. It was a terrible slaughter. In front of our house there were corpses rotting in the streets, with blood running everywhere and dogs eating the bodies. One day some of my friends and I looked down a well and saw at least 15 bodies in it. Many wells were full of dead people.</span><br /></p> <p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;">Following this, the new local government, controlled by the Hazaras, came and confiscated all our property and our home. We had no choice but to leave everything. You do what you are told when guns are pointed at you. We briefly stayed at my mother’s sister’s home, then moved back to Samangan.</span><br /></p> <p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;">One day when I came home from school, everybody was crying and very upset. I asked what happened, but they just told me to go away and they wouldn’t tell me anything. Soon I understood that my two older brothers, ages 19 and 21 at the time, had been kidnapped by the Taliban forces. They were outside one day and some people just snatched them. As if my mother had not had enough grief already, now she suffered the loss of her two oldest sons. We never heard from them or saw them again. </span><br /></p> <p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;">Right away my uncles realized that something had to be done to protect me. Who knew whether I might be grabbed in a similar way before too long? The Taliban regime was now in complete control, constantly on the lookout for recruits for the army. Afghanistan was a nightmarish place to be. My uncle who was a Talib warned us that Afghanistan was not safe for us and we should flee. This uncle had actually been visited in Samangan by Mullah Bourjan, a high-ranking Taliban member and close friend of Osama bin Laden. He came to thank my uncle for his service to the Taliban cause, and especially to congratulate him for his work in gathering Stinger missiles. I remember he presented him with a briefcase full of American dollars. Before we fled, he returned most of this money to the Taliban.</span><br /></p> <p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;">Once the decision to leave had been made, things happened quickly. We sold all our livestock and many of our possessions, and we buried under the floor of our house some important documents and pictures. (We have never recovered these documents.) We didn’t have much time to pack, leaving one night under cover of darkness at 1:00 AM. A sense of urgency was in the air. Everything was “Hurry up! Hurry up! Come on, let’s go!” There were 13 of us in all, including my mom and sister and I, my grandparents, two uncles and two aunts, along with four cousins. We made it to Kabul and quickly hired cars and drivers for the six-hour trip to Kandahar. After very little rest, we changed cars and left for Pakistan. The next day we made it to Quetta. We lied to the border guards, pretending to be crossing the border for a wedding. We made it across the border with no problems. Our journey as refugees had begun. It was about a month past my 10<sup>th</sup> birthday.</span><br /></p> <p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;"> * * * * * *</span><br /></p> <p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;">Life in Quetta was really not too bad. My uncles got some work and we had plenty of money to buy food and save a little bit. Then my uncles starting managing a big hotel and making good money. Unfortunately, one of their main employees, a man they really trusted, cheated them out of a lot of money and then disappeared. We were broke again! So my uncles had to get other jobs; one of them worked as a cook. Slowly they were able to save a little money.</span><br /></p> <p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;">They came up with a plan for the two of them to go to Iran, get jobs and send us money until we had enough to pay the smugglers to take us to Iran. It is more expensive and dangerous for families to be smuggled than for singles. So, after a very difficult journey, they made it to Iran and found decent work. They began to send us money and we started saving for the trip ourselves. Though life was much nicer in Quetta than Afghanistan, it was not the kind of place where we could make a permanent home, or where I could get an education. </span><br /></p> <p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;">In the meantime, I was working with another uncle who lived in Pakistan and had now joined us. We had a watch repair shop. Also, during Ramadan we sold water and various sweets for when people broke their fast. Business was pretty good. After a few months we had enough money to start the next leg of our journey. </span><br /></p> <p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;">Once the time was right to leave Quetta, everything was rush, rush, rush. There was no time to waste. It was a very long, hot, and bumpy bus ride from Quetta to the Iranian border. The trip took about 13 hours. I was really miserable, because I get very dizzy and sick when I am riding. So it was awful for me. </span><br /></p> <p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;">At the border, we got onto a very fast, flatbed Datsun truck. We were warned repeatedly to hold on tight because if we fell off, the truck would not stop for us. Whenever it was time to depart, we were given exact times and told that if we were not there, if we were even one minute late, we would be left behind. I was always by my grandfather’s side and even slept with him. He tended to me and made sure I was always ready to go. Once we were in such a rush to get on a bus we had to leave our bags behind. When the signal comes to go you cannot wait for anything or you will be left behind and the police will catch you. Anyway, we crossed the border in this truck at night without using any of our lights. It was very dark, but of course the police realized what was happening and they started chasing us. We could hear them behind us but somehow we outran them and made it to a prearranged hiding place. We stayed there for a long time, while the police went by and searched for us. Finally we made it to the town of Zahedan and stayed at the smuggler’s house. </span><br /></p> <p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;">The remainder of our journey to Tehran was by bus. We were the only Afghans on board. The bus was quite nice. Occasionally it was boarded by the police, but we were never questioned or checked. Nevertheless, from the time we left Quetta, it took us one and a half to two months to get to Tehran. We considered ourselves very lucky that we had made it that fast. For most refugees it takes much longer than that.</span><br /></p> <p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;">We all continued to stay together as a family throughout our time in Iran. We lived in a very large, very nice house, arranged for by one of my uncles who had gone before us five or six months before. We made many friends, since as Tajiks we looked a lot like Iranians. My uncles had good salaries, and the women worked at home making things to sell. We kids were not able to go to school, so we just had a good time playing and watching TV, things like that.</span><br /></p> <p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;">After about two years in Tehran, my uncles and their families and my grandparents moved into a separate house from my mother and me. My sister, who by this time had gotten married to an Afghan boy she met there, also lived with us. This was the first time I had been separated from my grandparents since we had left Afghanistan. I had started working some, first at a sewing factory where I was learning how to make shirts, then later at a big shop that sold bulk containers of rice, oil, tea and so forth. I did cleaning for them at first and got to know them well. They liked me and trusted me, but I stole from them and it gave us lots of extra money.</span><br /></p> <p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;">It seemed that the situation in Afghanistan was improving, and we were all wanting to go back. (By this time it was 2002; the Taliban had been overthrown, and the Americans were there.) Once we had actually applied at the Canadian embassy to immigrate there and within ten days, my mom and I were accepted! But she refused to take this opportunity, thinking that if things only got better at home we would go back. My uncles and my grandparents all wanted to go back, and we said that we wanted to go back too! But they said no, let us go back first and see what conditions are like, and if everything is favorable, we will send for you. We agreed to that. But my sister, who was pregnant with her first child, and her husband returned also. So only my mother and I remained in Iran.</span><br /></p> <p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;">It was a very sad and difficult time for my mother. She was separated from her nineteen-year-old daughter for the first time since she was born. She cried often, missing her daughter so much. Suddenly she was left alone with me, a son whom she really didn’t know, who was like a stranger to her. Of course I missed my grandfather very much. (Even now I miss him terribly.) Then we got word from Afghanistan that conditions were not good there, especially for a widow and her thirteen-year-old son. Returning home was out of the question for us. We were keenly disappointed. </span><br /></p> <p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;">My uncle told us that the only thing for us to do was to continue and try to make it to Europe. (Still the goal was to find a place where I could go to school and get a proper education.) My mom called Afghanistan and talked to her lawyer, giving permission to change her will and sell our apartment in Mazar-e-sharif. So they sold it and my uncle came to Tehran (this time he came straight there and made it in one week) and brought us the money. He arranged for us to meet a smuggler, an old acquaintance of his. We moved in and lived with this smuggler—I still have his phone number to this day; he became like family to us. My uncle stayed with us as a guarantee that the smuggler would be paid. Once we were safely in Turkey, we would contact him and he would then take the smuggler back to Tehran where the money was being held. </span><br /></p> <p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;">We all went to a Kurdish village in northern Iran, close to the Turkish border. We stayed with a family there, along with the smuggler. We all became good friends, and we gave them many things that we had brought with us from Tehran. I became friends with the family’s daughter and taught her some things on the computer. From then on, the smuggler treated us more like family rather than just people from Afghanistan who wanted to be smuggled into another country. Besides his financial interest, that’s why he wanted to make sure we were in good hands and that we would have a successful passage.</span><br /></p> <p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;">After about a month, we were put on another flatbed truck. I’ll never forget that truck. It was a high, big truck, but it was very cold. We ran through several police checkpoints in this mountainous area. We were taken to another village a little closer to the border, where we waited for a while, and then one night we were transferred to another house. We were told, “Get dressed!” and we understood that we needed to put on our warm clothing. The next thing we knew we were on horseback in a caravan of about twenty horses. We rode these horses, at night, about six hours to the next Iranian village, closer yet to the border of Turkey. The snow was very deep, and the wind and snow were blowing so hard you could not see what was in front of you. </span><br /></p> <p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;">We reached a small village, but were warned that the cops were coming. Apparently they had been tipped off that some people were being smuggled. We had to hide on the side of a mountain, exposed to the wind and the snow. It was extremely cold, and we were freezing. We stayed there until the police were gone. Finally, frozen and exhausted, we reached the village and stayed there three or four nights. We were fed and cared for, though of course we had to pay. At any home we stayed in along the way, we had to pay.</span><br /></p> <p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;">At this point my mother and I were separated. As it turned out, she had a rather easy trip to the next village, but I almost didn’t make it. My mom bore a strong resemblance to the smuggler’s mother, so he used her passport and crossed the border with my mom in the car, posing as his mother. It didn’t hurt that the smuggler had a policeman friend who was riding in the car with them! So, she made it easily to the city of Van, Turkey, on the eastern shore of Lake Van, and waited for me to join her.</span><br /></p> <p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;">Meanwhile, my journey across the border was much more difficult and perilous. As I’ve said, it was wintertime, and the mountains were extremely cold and snowy. The only way across for us was to walk as we tried to sneak past the border guards. By this time, in addition to our guide, there were six of us refugees, all Afghans. As we crossed the border and were walking through the first small village very close by, the guide was ahead of us and we followed two by two, with some distance between us. Suddenly, we heard a commotion behind us and the man with me said, “They got them! Look behind you!” I looked back and could see some very large Turkish policemen in the process of apprehending the other four guys. They were treating them very roughly. (I found out later that on that very same evening they were deported back to Iran. Basically they showed them the way back to Iran across the mountains and said, “Here’s the way to go. If you’re lucky, you will make it and the police will catch you and send you back to Afghanistan. If you don’t make it, you will freeze to death and the wolves will eat you. Sorry!” Fortunately, these four guys made it back to Afghanistan, and as far as I know, they are still there today.) </span><br /></p> <p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;">[Note: "RA" explained to me, after I expressed a bit of confusion, that there were numerous police checkpoints on both sides of the border. People who are from Pakistan, Afghanistan, Iran, and other countries from that area of the world, do not think of a border as one imaginary line that once you have crossed is behind you. A border is something that has to be continually crossed as you deal with numerous police checkpoints from the two countries who share that border. He said that many Afghans have expressed amazement to him that, for example, when they crossed into Holland, “There was no border!”]</span><br /></p> <p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;">We walked as fast as we could and suddenly a car pulled up beside us and we got in. I was small and they practically threw me in as the car was still moving. They drove us for about 20 minutes, then stopped and showed us a place on the side of the mountain to go hide. We had some biscuits in our bags, but we had no water, so we could only eat snow. So we waited in that spot for two or three hours, while the smugglers went to do whatever business they needed to do for our continued journey (probably bribe some policemen). We weren’t afraid because from our hiding place we could see cars going back and forth; it was a big street. </span><br /></p> <p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;">When the car came to collect us, we were told that it was not possible to make it to Van that day, so we went to stay in a house in another village. That night we were told to sleep near oven where they bake bread, called a <i>tandoor</i>. After we were there for a couple of hours, talking and relaxing and getting warm, we saw a snake. We killed it, but after that we couldn’t sleep for the rest of the night!</span><br /></p> <p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;">There were also lots of chickens in this place, and the smell was horrible. I can smell the stench even now. In the morning the door was opened and we were given some bread, a very small amount of cheese and two tiny glasses of tea. After that, nothing! We stayed in there all day, without any other food except for the biscuits we had in our bags. Finally, around 7:00 PM the smugglers came and picked us up, and once again our journey started. They drove us to a place where we started walking over the mountains again.</span><br /></p> <p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;">We walked for about eleven hours. It worked like this. We had to walk, sometimes run, around every police checkpoint, led by a guide. A car, carrying a fresh guide, would then pick us up and drive us about 20 minutes or so until we neared the next police checkpoint. Then we had to get out of the car and walk around the checkpoint, which usually took about three hours. The snow was very heavy and the wind fierce. We were cold and exhausted, not having had any sleep the night before, and very little food. We were not given any food or water, so we survived by eating snow and eating our biscuits, which we carefully rationed.</span><br /></p> <p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;">We got very close to Van, but the smugglers put us out of the car and told us to wait at a spot next to a small river. We had been sweating heavily from exertion, though it was very cold, and we were exhausted. We were complaining a lot in our language, but of course they couldn’t understand what we were saying. But they knew we were upset. They told us that Van was very close and that we should be quiet. I was so tired I went to sleep, and my companion was afraid I had died. He tried to wake me by hitting me and talking to me but I didn’t respond. He was really scared that I was dead, and began thinking, “How can I go to this child’s mother and say, ‘I’m sorry, but your son is dead?’” Finally the car came and he said “Wake up!” and to his amazement, I stood up and got in the car.</span><br /></p> <p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;">They told us that this was the last leg of the trip. We were so tired we complained about having to carry our bags. They told us to leave them in the car and we could get them later. (Of course we never saw them again!) So we started our final trek over the mountain before reaching Van. We went up and over two hills, then came to a third one. My companion said, “I cannot walk anymore. I can’t go any further.” The guide said, “Well, if he can’t come, just leave him! Let’s go! Let’s go!” He tried to scare him by saying that if he stayed there the wolves would eat him. But he insisted that he couldn’t walk anymore.</span><br /></p> <p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;">I thought, I cannot just leave him like this! So I turned around and put his arm around my shoulder, and we walked together. When the guide saw this, he came to his other side and supported his arm on his shoulder, which made it much easier for me, of course. Remember that we were in very deep snow, so the walking was extremely difficult. In some places the snow was very hard on top, but in other places is was soft and you would sink down in it. It was sort of like quicksand. The harder you tried to get out, the worse it got, or so it seemed. Finally this man became warmer and he was able to walk on his own. </span><br /></p> <p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;">We knew we were getting close and we were beginning to feel a little alive again. It was then that we heard the police dogs. Suddenly it was like we had just begun our journey, as new waves of fear and energy came over us. We started running as fast as we could. We could hear the dogs barking but couldn’t see them. Then the searchlights started. When the light came near us, we would stop and duck down, and when it left we started running. It was just like in the movies. At some point, the police stopped the chase and called off the dogs. Somehow, I can’t explain how, we outran the dogs and made it to safety. We arrived in Van at the smuggler’s house, cold, hungry, and utterly exhausted.</span><br /></p> <p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;">I stayed there for about two weeks, and after a few days I was reunited with my mother. She was very close by, but we had to wait for a good time to be brought together. At this point my companion wanted to continue on his journey, so he asked for his bag. They told him his bag was gone. In his bag he had several hundred dollars, many pictures and some very important documents that he hoped to make his case with. Of course my bag was gone too. He was very upset and disappointed, but what could he do? </span></p> <p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;">(Even today, I sometimes see this man I crossed the mountain with on the streets of Athens. Once when he saw me he said, “Do you remember that night? I will never forget that night! How did we ever make it? How could we have crossed such a mountain under such conditions?” We laugh and shake our heads in amazement.)</span><br /></p> <p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;">My mom and I stayed one month in Van. After paying the smuggler, my uncle had also sent us some money, so we didn’t lack for anything. I enjoyed my time there. I had a girlfriend and started learning Turkish quickly. We lived in a nice house, had our own TV, ate good food, and had lots of nice things. We even did some sightseeing. After one month, when we left, we gave it all away. </span><br /></p> <p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;">Before we left Van we presented ourselves at a UN office to be officially accepted as refugees. After ten days we got the acceptance. They were going to send us either to Norway or Canada, but my mother didn’t want to do that. She only applied so we could get the official refugee card. So, as long as we stayed in Van we were legally recognized refugees, but the minute we left, we were illegal again. </span><br /></p> <p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;">[Note: This makes the third time that "RA" and his mother were accepted for immigration to a western country (once in Quetta, once in Tehran, and now here) and the third time she turned it down. Apparently the sight of this widow and her young son moved people to help her. It is unfathomable to me that this dear lady turned down the opportunity to go to Canada not once but three times! I wish I could explain it to you, but I for one cannot grasp it. What was going through her mind only she knows. "RA" told me that after being accepted in Van and turning it down, her mom said that they had made it so far on their own and they could continue in the same way. Apparently she was influenced also a little by the smuggler, who had a financial interest in seeing her continue on her journey. So there was an element of pride involved, as well as, unfortunately, serious ignorance about how the system works. It seems also to reflect the fact that in Afghanistan all decisions were made for her. There, women have no say so at all. Now they are stuck in Greece in a bureaucratic nightmare, still illegal after four years. "RA" has no identification at all, and his mom is not much better off. Any time "RA" is out on the streets there is the distinct threat that he will be stopped by the police and asked for his papers. This is a potentiality that we all hope never takes place. Meanwhile, "RA"’s mother continues to wait for an answer to her green card application, but for reasons too complicated to go into, it looks very grim indeed. A bureaucratic miracle is needed.]</span><br /></p> <p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;">We got on a bus headed for Istanbul. It was a very nice bus, but we had to stay in the bathroom of the bus with two other Afghan guys, often for hours at a time. It was beyond miserable. We were sweaty and smelly, and there was no fresh air. During the times they let us come out to sit in the bus, they brought us tea or whatever we wanted. One of the Afghans, who spoke Turkish, translated for us. They even had a waiter! It was very nice; I will never forget it. This lifted our spirits considerably, and we spoke of our hopes and dreams for a better life. Finally we made it to Istanbul.</span><br /></p> <p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;">Our living conditions in Istanbul were good. We had enough money to rent a nice house. We bought all the furniture and things that were in the house, including genuine Afghan carpets. But our goal was not to stay in Istanbul. We wanted to make it to Europe, to some country where I could go to school. We expected to be in Istanbul at least six months, but it turned out to be a stay of only about two-and-a-half months.</span><br /></p> <p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;">I had several jobs in Istanbul. Once I was waiting in the square and they took me to work in construction at a big mosque, which also had a school for studying the Koran. Just before prayer time one day, a man approached me and started asking me questions about where I was from, my age, and so forth. (By this time I knew how to speak Turkish pretty well.) He asked me how long I had been in the country, and when I said about two to three months, he said, “In two or three months you speak this much Turkish? Wow!” He was amazed. Then he told me that he was the principle of the school at this mosque, where they taught English, French, Arabic, and of course Turkish. He suggested that I should come to school there, where I could learn to use the computer and most importantly, learn to study the Koran and become a mullah. He said I didn’t need to be working and should be in school. He said they would even pay me each week so I could buy the things I wanted.</span><br /></p> <p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;">I knew if I told my mother of this opportunity, there was a 100% chance she would say yes. When she heard “English” and “Koran” she would say, “Let’s stay and you can go to school here.” When I realized what was happening, I lied to my mother and told her that the car that had been coming to take me to the mosque no longer came. I never went back to get my paycheck for that week. I did not want to become a mullah! No way! Naturally, my mother was very disappointed.</span><br /></p> <p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;">I had several other jobs, such as making t-shirts or washing dishes at a hotel. One day the smuggler showed up unexpectedly, and without really understanding what was going on, I found myself on a bus leaving Istanbul. We reached an area near the sea where you could see a Greek island in the distance. There were several people there who had been waiting for over a month for the right time to leave. But we didn’t even have time to finish our tea before a van came along and they told us, “Hurry! Hurry! Get in, let’s go!” It was like in the movies when they are robbing a bank, exactly like that. Everything was always in a big rush.</span><br /></p> <p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;">The van took us to a speedboat. There were eleven of us, and because I was small, they put me up in the front under the deck. My mom sat in a comfortable chair by the helm. The odor of petrol was very strong and I was cramped with my knees against my chest. I wanted to throw up, and as the boat bounced up and down against the water, I either banged my head or my knees. But thank God, the trip lasted only about 20 minutes. Soon we were dumped onto the shore of a Greek island. I don’t even know what island it was.</span><br /></p> <p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;">My mom and I, along with another Afghan guy, got separated from the rest of the people on the boat, who were Kurdish. We hid under a big bush until morning and then started walking. We wanted to turn ourselves into the police. We signaled for several cars to stop but nobody did. We walked about four or five hours on a very hot day—it was the beginning of summer. We had no water and no food, so we were extremely hungry and thirsty. The olive trees were just beginning to have some green olives on them and we tried to eat them but that made us even worse. We were getting desperate, because for over four hours we had nothing! Finally, we came to a hotel and decided to go in and see if we could at least get some water.</span><br /></p> <p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;">I couldn’t speak a word of English or Greek, but this other guy at least knew the English word “water.” When we went in to the hotel, a beautiful place, and a slightly fat Greek guy was sitting there having coffee and smoking. He spoke to us and my companion said, “Water, water!” He motioned for some water to be brought to us. We decided to ask him to call the police so we could turn ourselves in. So we gestured and made noises to communicate that to him, and he said something like, “Problem, problem, no, police problem, don’t go to police.” He called his wife and two daughters, who were very kind to us. They gave us some coffee, my first cup ever, and some fruit. (This was before tourist season started, so there was nobody in his hotel or cafeteria.) He asked us if we had any money, and my mom showed him all she had left—one hundred American dollars. He arranged for a taxi driver to take us to the port and buy ferry tickets for us. We were at this hotel for several hours, and we were overwhelmed by the kindness of this family. It made a huge impression on me. It was a sharp contrast to how we had been treated in the Islamic countries we had been in along the way. I’ll never forget the kindness of these people. They cried and hugged us when we left.</span><br /></p> <p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;">At the port the dollars were exchanged to euros and the tickets purchased. The taxi driver gave us our change—about five or six euros. We thanked him and were going to leave, when he said, “Hey, what about me?” My mom took off her gold earrings and gave them to him. He accepted them as payment. We boarded the ferry and started the long, overnight trip to the port of Pireas. It was the spring of 2003. </span><br /></p> <p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;">* * * * * * * </span><br /></p> <p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;">We called a contact who had been arranged by a relative who is now in Norway. He took us to a “refugee hotel” at Omonia Square in the heart of Athens. There were many Afghans there as well as lots of Africans, but it was mostly single men, and definitely not an appropriate place for a widow and her fourteen-year-old son. I remember it smelled terrible! After a few hours he came and took us to another “Afghan hotel,” and after a couple of days we started staying in a small place up on the roof. It was then that we met a man from Mazar-e-sharif who went by the name of Navid.</span><br /></p> <p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;">Navid showed us kindness and actually was saying good things about life in Greece. The next day he brought us some potatoes and cherries. I had a tape of Iranian music that I loved, and he let me use his tape player to listen to it. He told us that he had some books he wanted to show us, and it was then that we understood he was a Christian. He gave us these books, saying that they would help us understand more about the Bible and about God. We took the books and Mother took a copy of the Bible and we said thank you. I didn’t realize at the time what my mom was thinking, but she told me later that she believed that we would be able to read some of this material and then convince this man that he was going down the wrong path. This material was not the truth. Navid was terribly wrong and he was headed directly for hell!</span><br /></p> <p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;">Mom read the Bible a little, opening it at random to see if God would say something to her. She would read a page or two and put it down. I glanced at the beginning of the other books but quickly handed them to my mom, leaving it to her to look them over. But she was not particularly impressed with anything at first.</span><br /></p> <p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;">The first issue we had to face was whether we wanted to stay in Greece or not. One Afghan man we met wanted to help smuggle us to England. Two of my cousins in England contacted us and suggested they could help us come there. They talked with a smuggler, and I even colored my hair yellow in an attempt to disguise my nationality. But though we showed we were really serious about wanting to do it, our cousins began making lots of excuses, saying that they couldn’t trust the smuggler and this and that. So the deal fell through.</span><br /></p> <p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;">Navid continued to visit us and bring us food. He came so often it even started to bother us! He began to explain to us more about Christianity, and it was from him that I first heard the gospel, that Jesus was the Son of God and he died for my sins and through him I could have eternal life. We thought he was crazy! Here’s this guy who brings us fruit and talks about Jesus all the time. He’s really nuts! </span><br /></p> <p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;">I remember when I was very young, probably during the time we were in Kabul, one of my uncles on my father’s side had a cross on a necklace. He had brought it for my aunt from Germany, where he worked as a policeman. I liked this necklace very much and wanted it, so according to the customs of our culture, they were obliged to give it to me. I wore this necklace with a cross on it while I was at their house, but nobody ever said anything about it or explained what it meant. Of course I had no idea what it meant. Apparently neither did anybody else, or at least it didn’t bother them that I was running around the house wearing it.</span><br /></p> <p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;">It was from Navid, a man from a town in northern Afghanistan where my family had lived, that I first heard the name “Isa Masi” (Jesus Christ in Persian). I had traveled thousands of miles over the course of almost five years and never heard the name “Isa” along the way. At first it didn’t mean anything to me. When we arrived in Greece, of course we saw all the churches and we knew this was a “Christian” country, but we didn’t know anything about Christianity. The symbol of the cross was a complete mystery to us. We had no idea what it meant.</span><br /></p> <p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;">He didn’t say much to my mom, but he asked me to compare Islam and Christianity and see the differences. He knew the Koran pretty well and so did I, so it was easy for him to point out contrasts between it and the Bible. I remember one thing that bothered him was the language of the Koran. Why didn’t they allow us to read it in our own language? Why did it have to be only in Arabic? Don’t they want us to understand what’s in it? I told him that I did understand a lot of what was in it, and he told me that I should know even better how to compare it with the Bible. He said that I had a big advantage over other Afghans who were trapped in their ignorance and couldn’t think for themselves. When he found out that my dad had been a communist, he encouraged me even more by saying that even my father was a smart person who knew there was something better than Islam!</span><br /></p> <p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;">I enjoyed Navid’s company and the conversations with him, and I did a lot of comparing of Islam and Christianity. But mostly my mind was preoccupied with what we were going to do. Would we leave and go to England? If not, where would we live in Greece and how would we survive? Navid was one of the few people who seemed to be interested in being friends with us, so I thought, at least while we are here, it’s good to have such a friend. But I was not giving serious thought to our talks because of the more pressing issue of survival.</span><br /></p> <p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;">Since we were having trouble getting our cousins in England to cooperate with us, Navid began suggesting that we stay in Greece. He told us about the Greek Council of Refugees (GCR), who would give us a “house” and money every month. So we made an application with them and because we had a good case, we were accepted right away. When they offered us their congratulations that our application had been accepted, we thought they we going to put us in a house! But instead we were given bus tickets for a refugee camp in Lamia. Navid came to say goodbye to us and promised to stay in touch. He gave us his phone number and gave me his portable tape player. The next morning, with difficulty, we found our way to the bus station and went to the camp.</span><br /></p> <p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;">At the camp, my mom continued reading the Bible, trying to find things she could use to convince Navid how wrong he was. She read the Song of Solomon and was horrified by all the things about love and sex! She said, “Look! It’s impossible for the Word of God to contain such things! I can prove to him that this is not the Word of God!” </span><br /></p> <p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;">After we had been in the Lamia camp for a little over a month, Navid called us one day and said, “Why don’t you get away from there and come to Athens and we’ll have some fun together?” So we said OK. He told us to save the receipt for the train ticket and we’d get reimbursed. When we arrived in Athens, we were running late. Navid met us and we hurried to a building downtown (the Athens Refugee Center operated by Helping Hands) where there were many Iranians and Afghans. They were having a church service! This was Navid’s idea of fun? (If he had told us why he wanted us to come we would have never agreed.) An Iranian man was preaching and saying many things that were unfamiliar to us. It was incredibly boring to me.</span><br /></p> <p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;">They had taken our bags when we entered and put them in a small room called “the clothing room,” used for giving away clothes to needy refugees. Later that evening we discovered all our clothes were gone! They had been given away! My mom was so frustrated and angry. The next time we were invited she didn’t want to go because of that. But at least they gave us money, each time we came, for the train tickets to and from Lamia.</span><br /></p> <p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;">The second time we went to this church, called the Persian Christian Fellowship, my mother was impressed by the love she saw in that place. People were kind to one another, they called each other “brother” and “sister,” and talked to each other politely. By this time, she was no longer reading the Bible by opening it randomly, but was reading it from cover to cover. She knew all the stories of Abraham, Moses, and so forth. It was beginning to make sense to her, and as we were on our way back to the camp that night, she told me that maybe there was some truth to all this. Maybe this was why Navid showed such love to us. I was still quite fuzzy about it all, but when I saw my mother’s openness, it helped me overcome my fear about possibly becoming a Christian. Though this was only our second time to visit this place, I was already thinking about becoming a Christian. But it was not because of any sense of guilt over my sin or understanding that Jesus died on the cross for me, but because I saw the love and warmth of these people and thought maybe they had something I didn’t. I thought, maybe it would be a good thing to be a part of that. It was so different from anything I had ever seen before, whether in Afghanistan, Pakistan, Iran, or Turkey. </span><br /></p> <p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;">Conditions were crowded at the Lamia camp, but all in all we were well taken care of there. The food was good and we had everything we needed. I was able to work, and by the time we moved to Athens about five months later, we had saved about €2,000. After three months, our initial “white paper” that we got from the police had expired, so they took us to officially register, get fingerprinted, and get our “pink card.” This made us legal in Greece for six months and officially recognized us as refugees.</span><br /></p> <p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;">My mother had wanted to convince Navid he was wrong, but now she was becoming convinced herself. God was speaking to her through her reading of the Bible, which she was doing totally on her own. (I was not reading the Bible at all.) Also, the love we received from Christian people was unlike anything we had ever experienced before. It made a huge impression on us. There had to be some reason these people were showering us with such love!</span><br /></p> <p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;">The third time we went back to the Persian Fellowship, we were ready to accept Christ as our Lord. We met with Navid beforehand, and my mom had several questions for him. He answered them in his characteristic way, with great enthusiasm and feeling, and we were satisfied with his answers. He told us that later that evening they would ask us to come to the front and they would ask us some questions about what we believe. He said, “Whatever they ask you, just say ‘Yes!’”</span><br /></p> <p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;">After the preaching was over, Navid took me by the arm and led us to the front. They asked us questions like, “Do you believe that Jesus Christ is the Son of the Living God?” and “Do you believe that Jesus died on the cross for your sins?” and “Do you believe that Jesus is able to save you?” We answered all the questions and then they prayed for us and welcomed us into the family of God! </span><br /></p> <p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;">Soon we attended a special class for baptismal candidates. We did not give very good answers to their questions! The leader told us that we weren’t ready and there was no way we could get baptized that day! Yet he told us more clearly what it meant to be a Christian, and for the first time, I understood. We went with the group to the sea, not expecting to be baptized. But after talking to us some more and realizing our desire, they agreed to baptize us. They asked me to give my testimony. I was a little scared at first because I had never spoken in front of people before, but then the words just flowed out. I don’t remember all that I said, but I’m sure I talked about comparing and contrasting Islam and Christianity, because that’s a lot of what I was doing in my mind. I told them about how Navid shared the love of Jesus with us and how slowly I came to see the truth.</span><br /></p> <p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;">At this point, I had a very undeveloped understanding of Christianity. I did believe that Jesus was God, that God existed as three persons, and that Jesus had died on the cross for my sins. But only in the months after that, as I grew in the faith, did I come to understand the concept of repentance and apart from Christ, my absolute guilt before God as a sinner. </span><br /></p> <p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;">After the baptism, some policemen came to the beach. They called us over to show our papers to them. Navid said as we were going toward them, “Oh no, I don’t have any papers!” He started praying and declaring the greatness of God. I think he was just trying to reassure himself, because he probably thought he was going to jail. The police then checked everybody’s papers—except Navid’s! It was a miracle before our very eyes! It made a very big impression on me and my mom. On the way back to Lamia that night, all we could talk about was how God had protected Navid, and how he had protected us all along our journey. It became clear to us that we had been prevented from going to England so that God could show us the true way of life. We were amazed, and we rejoiced together at God’s hand on our lives.</span><br /></p> <p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;">After three or four weeks, we moved to Athens to live in “the Nest,” a place for new believers and seekers operated by an organization called Helping Hands. Here we continued to see love among the Christians (and the arguments!) and many other things that strengthened me in the faith. I began attending Bible studies and learning many new things. Day by day I understood more about Christ and Christianity.</span><br /></p> <p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;">By the time the Olympics came to Athens that next summer, I had grown cold in my faith. I was doing some pretty wild things, like stealing things from shops and other shady activities. Up to that time Navid had been the main influence in my Christian life, but now another man from Iran named Mohsen reached out to me. He knew I was hanging out with some guys that were not a good influence. He asked me to come talk to him, so we had juice together. (I’ll never forget that evening.) He told me he knew I was a good boy and that I should forget about the past and press ahead in my growth. He invited me to go running with him the next morning, even though he was having many health problems. So every morning we got up at 5:30 and would go to the Acropolis or a big nearby park. We had great times talking and sharing about the scriptures.</span><br /></p> <p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;">Gradually I began to invite some of the other kids who lived at the Nest to go with us. So after running to the Acropolis, we would sit down to have juice and refreshments. Mohsen would hand me a Bible and have me read a passage and ask me to explain it. If I answered incorrectly, which was usually the case, he would help me see the correct meaning. During this time Mohsen and I became very close and I really began to grow as a Christian. One of my old friends tried to get me to start hanging out with him again, but I wouldn’t. I told him I had found a better way.</span><br /></p> <p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;">I thank God that he provided Mohsen for me at that time. I was heading down a dangerous road, but he helped show me the way to go. I realized he was very sick, yet he cared for me and God’s love became more real to me through him. Though Mohsen didn’t have much money, he always bought us juice and snacks and was willing to get up early and spend time with us. It was a very special time. Besides developing my relationship with Mohsen, I grew deeply in my relationship with God and my relationship with the church. </span><br /></p> <p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;">One day I was on the way to church and one of the leaders was walking with me and talking about the story of Moses and the burning bush. Moses saw this bush that was burning but not burned up, and when he went closer to look at it, a voice told him to take off his sandals because he was on holy ground. I began to see that my experience in Greece had been something like that. Starting with the experience at the hotel on the island where we were shown such kindness, then God bringing Navid into our lives who introduced us to the love of Christ, I realized that God was telling me to take off my sandals, and my sandals were my religion. Once I took off my sandals, it was like God said, “OK, <i>now</i> I am going to talk to you.” And all during that period when my heart was far from God, still God was working on me. So he brought Mohsen into my life to bring me back and focus me on the right way. I began to read the Bible for myself and ask God as I was reading what it meant, and he would show me!</span><br /></p> <p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;">When I read the story of Moses, it was as if God were saying to me, “Because I have heard the cry of your people, I have brought you all this way for you to go back and free them!” I realized that God had brought me through all these difficulties and had now brought me to himself, not for my own happiness and personal gain, but so I could go back to Afghanistan and tell my people the good news about Jesus Christ. This, I believe, is the call of God on my life. This is the ultimate result of my journey as a refugee.</span><br /></p> <p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;">God has encouraged me several times over the past few years with “miraculous” signs. Once I was invited to a birthday party, but I didn’t have any decent pants to wear, and we had no money to buy any. My mother and I were walking home from somebody’s house one night (we had gone to comfort a man whose mother had died) when it was very late—all the buses had stopped running. I was talking to my mom about needing some pants to wear, but I complained about us not having any money. She said, “Yes, if you stay at home and don’t work, you lazy person, of course we are not going to have any money and of course you will not have any pants for the party tomorrow!” I said, “Oh, but God is great!” She said, “Yes, God is great, but he doesn’t want you to be lazy. He wants you to go out and get a job and make some money. Do you think he’s going to throw you some money from the sky?” I said, “Don’t worry, he will provide. You will see!” </span><br /></p> <p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;">As we were walking, I saw a large box that wasn’t very near the garbage bin, so I kicked it to move it closer. She told me to be quiet so I wouldn’t wake people up. Again I kicked it and again she said, “Shhh!” I became a little angry and kicked the box a third time, this time a little harder. It slid over close to the bin, but as it did, a plastic bag fell out. I picked it up and looked at it under a streetlight—it was a brand new pair of jeans still in the bag! I said to my mom, “Now do you believe that my God is the Provider?” She just looked at me and said, “Get out of here!” When we got home, I took the pants out of the plastic and saw that they were very nice jeans, and they fit me perfectly! My mom and I were both amazed. She said, “Now I know that God is the provider. Sorry!” I was so excited I couldn’t sleep that night. Not only was I able to go to the party, I wore those jeans for many months after that.</span><br /></p> <p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;">This little “miracle” and other answers to prayer greatly strengthened me in my faith. I saw that just as God had performed many signs for Moses, so he was clearly showing me that he is God and he is true. He has now given me a vision for returning to Afghanistan to establish churches and Christian camps and schools. Our country has none of these things, no Christian hospitals, no avenues for reaching out to people with the love of Christ. I hope one day to see that as a reality.</span><br /></p> <p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;">Most members of our family back in Afghanistan don’t know about our conversion. My sister knows, and she accepts us for the decision we’ve made. Some of our relatives in Europe who know we are Christians no longer have any contact with us. We haven’t told other family members, not because we are ashamed or don’t want to tell them, but we know they will reject us immediately and tell us never to call them again. Even if they were interested, for their own protection they would have to reject us and say bad things about us. We don’t want to inform them of something as important as this over the telephone. One day we hope to share the gospel with them face to face. We have a plan for how we would do that if the Lord enables us some day to return. </span><br /></p> <p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;">My life has changed completely since I’ve become a Christian. I am aware of God’s presence with me, and I communicate with him in prayer. In Islam, for me, there was no sense of personal communication at all. Because of the Holy Spirit within me, I am sensitive to sins, such as lying and stealing, whereas before I didn’t care about those things at all. I was full of anger and hatred, but now my heart is full of his love. Now my life is directed by the word of God, which tells me to respect and love my neighbor, not to look lustfully after women, and many things such as that, things that are not talked about in the Koran. Many of my Islamic ways of thinking have completely changed! For example, in a family the head of the household is an absolute dictator and is only to be feared and obeyed. I no longer think that way. </span><br /></p> <p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;">Navid, my mom, and I were the first outspoken Afghan Christians in Greece, as far as I know. I lost many friends as a result of my conversion. We were well known among Afghans because we didn’t care what any of them thought about us personally—we had accepted Christ and he was our Lord, and popularity and acceptance among the people didn’t matter to us. Only once did I suffer any physical violence against myself. A Pashtun guy whose name I didn’t even know saw me at an ice cream factory where I was working. We started talking and he asked me my name. When I told him, he said, “Oh, are you the one who became a Christian?” When I replied yes, he hit me in the jaw so quickly I didn’t even realize what was happening. I never told my mother about it, but for one week I couldn’t eat anything. I could only drink juice. </span><br /></p> <p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;">Probably the biggest discouragement in my daily life is that we have not been able to get legal papers. The police lost our file which had all our papers and our case inside. Since then we have had a very difficult time. My mother applied for a green card over a year ago, but we haven’t received an answer. It’s a challenge to keep walking by faith in this discouraging situation.</span><br /></p> <p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;">It is so amazing to me how God has brought different men into my life at important times to help disciple me. It always seems to be just the right person that I need at the moment. He knows the way to take me and when to take me there! Sometimes at night as I’m thinking about my life, I see the hand of God in so many ways, and I am so thankful and amazed. It is difficult for me to explain. I am so blessed in this way.</span><br /></p> <p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;">One prayer request I have is that God would help me fulfill my vision of going back to Afghanistan, not underground, but to publicly proclaim the gospel and plant churches. My most immediate needs are: to be able to go to college (I will graduate from high school in June, 2008) and to get legal papers. Both of these things seems almost impossible. But with God all things are possible.</span><br /></p> <p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;"><i>As told to Sam Holdsambeck, July 2007</i></span><br /></p> <span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;"><i> </i></span>Scotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16792409625047970709noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19876398.post-17434130248420834652008-08-24T09:44:00.000+03:002008-08-24T09:46:09.033+03:00"Mn's" Story<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"><span style="font-size: 14pt; font-family: Verdana;"><br /><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Verdana;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Verdana;">My name is "Mn" and I was born in <st1:place st="on"><st1:city st="on">Tehran</st1:City>, <st1:country-region st="on">Iran</st1:country-region></st1:place>, in 1979.<span style=""> </span>This same year, two significant events took place in my country.<span style=""> </span>On February 1, 1979, the Ayatollah Khomeini returned to <st1:country-region st="on">Iran</st1:country-region> from exile in <st1:place st="on"><st1:city st="on">Paris</st1:City></st1:place> to seize control of the government.<span style=""> </span>Nine months later, on November 4, 1979, militant university students in <st1:city st="on">Tehran</st1:City> raided the <st1:country-region st="on">U.S.</st1:country-region> diplomatic mission and took several diplomats hostage, thus beginning a crisis between <st1:country-region st="on">Iran</st1:country-region> and the <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">United States</st1:place></st1:country-region> that lasted over a year.<span style=""> </span>So my birth was framed by two very important political events.<span style=""> </span>To make matters much worse, on the September 22, 1980, without any prior warning, <st1:country-region st="on">Iraq</st1:country-region> invaded <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Iran</st1:place></st1:country-region>, thus beginning one of the longest and bloodiest wars of the 20<sup>th</sup> century.<span style=""> </span>The war finally ended in a stalemate eight years later.<span style=""> </span>These were the years of my earliest childhood.<span style=""> </span>The times were tumultuous.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Verdana;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Verdana;">In spite of all this, my parents provided a good and happy home for me and my three siblings.<span style=""> </span>My father was a wonderful man who loved me and taught me many things.<span style=""> </span>He died when I was 13, and it was a huge loss to me.<span style=""> </span>I loved him and admired him greatly.<span style=""> </span>My mother held our family together, and we were all very close to each other.<span style=""> </span>I liked school and loved to study, and I received a good education.<span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Verdana;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Verdana;">After finishing school, I worked for a civil engineering firm and also had my own restaurant.<span style=""> </span>One day, a scandal erupted because of some supposed tainted meat.<span style=""> </span>It became known later that it was entirely false and politically motivated, but nevertheless my partner and I got caught in the middle of it.<span style=""> </span>I was arrested and put in jail.<span style=""> </span>I hired a very good lawyer, who advised me that due to my father’s history as an officer in the royal military under the Shah, things would probably not go well for me in a trial.<span style=""> </span>He said my best choice was to flee the country.<span style=""> </span>Not only that, I was extremely tired of the difficult economic situation and lack of democracy in <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Iran</st1:place></st1:country-region>.<span style=""> </span>I had only recently been married, so my new bride and I left for <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Turkey</st1:place></st1:country-region>.<span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Verdana;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Verdana;">Life in <st1:country-region st="on">Turkey</st1:country-region> was very difficult and tensions were very high between <st1:country-region st="on">Iraq</st1:country-region> and the <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">United States</st1:place></st1:country-region>.<span style=""> </span>My plan was to try to make it to <st1:country-region st="on">Norway</st1:country-region> or <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Canada</st1:place></st1:country-region> and continue my education and return to the business world.<span style=""> </span>But I was unable to find a smuggler to help us, and I decided to send my wife back to <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Iran</st1:place></st1:country-region> and have her join me later when my situation improved.<span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Verdana;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Verdana;">After living in <st1:country-region st="on">Turkey</st1:country-region> for about six months, I left for <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Greece</st1:place></st1:country-region>.<span style=""> </span>Along with several other refugees, I crossed the border on foot.<span style=""> </span>We made a very dangerous crossing of the river between <st1:country-region st="on">Turkey</st1:country-region> and <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Greece</st1:place></st1:country-region>.<span style=""> </span>One of the men with me drowned.<span style=""> </span>By God’s grace I made it, but we were in bad condition.<span style=""> </span>At one point we were so cold and hungry we didn’t know if we would make it.<span style=""> </span>We found a small church and huddled inside it, burning candles to try to keep warm.<span style=""> </span>Eventually we were apprehended and arrested and I spent three months in a refugee camp.<span style=""> </span>Conditions were terrible and I was very depressed.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Verdana;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Verdana;">I finally made my way to <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Athens</st1:place></st1:City> and tried to find some other Iranians.<span style=""> </span>I heard about a place called Helping Hands that was a Christian organization who helped refugees.<span style=""> </span>At this same location was something called the Persian Christian Fellowship.<span style=""> </span>On my first time there I heard brother Themis preach about how we are all sinners.<span style=""> </span>It started me thinking about things I had never really thought about before.<span style=""> </span>The next Sunday, an Iranian Christian named Mohammad preached, and I took a Bible home with me.<span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Verdana;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Verdana;">Helping Hands and the Persian Christian Fellowship were planning a retreat for seekers and new believers, and they invited me for a weekend outside of <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Athens</st1:place></st1:City> on a Greek island.<span style=""> </span>A volunteer team from a church in <st1:country-region st="on">Canada</st1:country-region> was in <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Greece</st1:place></st1:country-region> to help with the retreat.<span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Verdana;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Verdana;">At this time, I had a good friend from <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Iran</st1:place></st1:country-region> who was very sick and in the hospital.<span style=""> </span>The doctors said that he had many problems with his body and that he needed many tests.<span style=""> </span>He continued to get worse until he was to the point where he was paralyzed and unable to move at all.<span style=""> </span>I told him that some Christians wanted to pray for him, but he said, “Prayer can never heal me.”<span style=""> </span>But this group of Christians from <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Canada</st1:place></st1:country-region> prayed with me for him on Thanksgiving Day on this Greek island.<span style=""> </span>Later, I went to the hospital to see him and get the results of the test.<span style=""> </span>The man had been healed!<span style=""> </span>He was so much better, even the doctors were amazed and bewildered.<span style=""> </span>My friend was greatly moved by what had happened to him, and he soon came to Christ.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Verdana;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Verdana;">I was absorbing all this but was still not ready to become a Christian.<span style=""> </span>I needed to think about it some more. I thought about Christianity for three months and read several books.<span style=""> </span>At the end of that time I put my faith in Jesus as my savior.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Verdana;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Verdana;">Part of the reason I waited for three months before accepting Christ is that I was trying to bargain with God.<span style=""> </span>I told Christ that if He is the truth then He should bring my wife to join me in <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Greece</st1:place></st1:country-region>.<span style=""> </span>But eventually I understood that I cannot demand something from God.<span style=""> </span>I realized that it is not Christ who needs me, but it is I who so desperately need Him.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Verdana;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Verdana;">I began to grow in my new faith and developed a desire, more and more, to serve the Lord.<span style=""> </span>I enjoyed the Bible classes that were held at Helping Hands.<span style=""> </span>I met many wonderful people who helped disciple me in the Word of God and the Christian life.<span style=""> </span>I enjoyed serving at Helping Hands and reaching out to other refugees.<span style=""> </span>Telling others, especially other Iranians, about what God had done for me through Jesus Christ, was a great joy to me.<span style=""> </span>When I first came to <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Greece</st1:place></st1:country-region>, I could speak hardly any English, but because I was around so many English speaking missionaries, I began to learn the language and also began to study it.<span style=""> </span>This was an important development for me, because an opportunity would soon arise that enabled me to have access to biblical training.<span style=""> </span>By now, I knew in my heart that all I wanted to do with my life was serve the Lord in ministry, though I had no idea what that would look like.<span style=""> </span>I was particularly burdened for my own people.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Verdana;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Verdana;">In the fall of 2004, Helping Hands and another organization in <st1:city st="on">Athens</st1:City> combined efforts to start a six-month training course called the <st1:place st="on"><st1:placename st="on">Athens</st1:PlaceName> <st1:placename st="on">Intensive</st1:PlaceName> <st1:placetype st="on">Ministry</st1:PlaceType> <st1:placetype st="on">School</st1:PlaceType></st1:place>.<span style=""> </span>The teaching was being offered in English, and though I was far from fluent, I qualified along with three other men to be in the school.<span style=""> </span>The school ran for six months, and I enjoyed it very much.<span style=""> </span>Besides further developing my English skills, we studied Bible books, systematic theology, spiritual development, and many practical ministry courses.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Verdana;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Verdana;">A little over a month before AIMS started, I had surgery (for the fifth time) for a pilonidal cyst, a very painful and debilitating condition.<span style=""> </span>Many times I was unable to sit through the classes and had to lie on my side on a couch.<span style=""> </span>The physical trials I experienced during this time were intense and severe.<span style=""> </span>But even worse than that was the news that my wife was divorcing me because of my faith.<span style=""> </span>She told me that our ways must separate.<span style=""> </span>The pain was almost unbearable, but God’s grace helped me through even this.<span style=""> </span>Now I had lost my country, my family, and my wife, but I had gained Christ, and I knew that no matter what, I would follow and serve Him.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Verdana;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Verdana;">After graduation from AIMS in February, 2004, an American friend named Dwight with Entrust helped get me enrolled in the English language program at the Greek Bible Institute.<span style=""> </span>I audited the remainder of the semester there, and entered the program that fall as a full time student.<span style=""> </span>My year of study there was difficult but wonderful.<span style=""> </span>I learned many wonderful things, and made some deep and abiding friendships.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Verdana;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Verdana;">Meanwhile, I was waiting on an answer from the Canadian government concerning my application to immigrate there.<span style=""> </span>I had decided from now on the seek help through only legal means and leave things in the hands of God.<span style=""> </span>A friend had helped me fill out the application in late 2003, and I was very honest with them about my life in <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Iran</st1:place></st1:country-region>, my political situation, my conversion to Christianity and my desire to serve the Lord.<span style=""> </span>Most people told me that it was virtually impossible that I would be accepted.<span style=""> </span>It seemed like the longer it dragged on the more unlikely it would be that I would receive a positive answer.<span style=""> </span>Yet in a strange way I was encouraged; most people received a rejection notice very quickly.<span style=""> </span>Though I had not been accepted, at least I had not been refused.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Verdana;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Verdana;">In the fall of 2005, while I was in my studies at the Greek Bible Institute, an opportunity arose for me to start an outreach to Persian speaking refugees on Saturday night at another small refugee center.<span style=""> </span>The Lord blessed us greatly.<span style=""> </span>Two other men and I help lead the services, and usually I did the preaching.<span style=""> </span>Many people started coming to Christ!<span style=""> </span>Over the next year, about 100 people put their faith in Jesus, most of them Iranians.<span style=""> </span>We did our best to teach and disciple them, but many of them moved on quickly to other countries in <st1:place st="on">Europe</st1:place>.<span style=""> </span>This is one of the great challenges and frustrations in refugee ministry. <span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Verdana;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Verdana;">On October 5, 2006, I received some fantastic news.<span style=""> </span>The Canadian immigration authorities had accepted my application!<span style=""> </span>The Lord had heard my cry and answered my prayers. <span style=""> </span>In the spring of the following year, I moved to my new home in the <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Toronto</st1:place></st1:City> area.<span style=""> </span>By now I was officially on staff with Entrust, an organization that is involved in training leaders for the church.<span style=""> </span>I am seeking the Lord about how He wants to use me in <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Canada</st1:place></st1:country-region>.<span style=""> </span>There is a large population of Iranians and Afghans in <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Canada</st1:place></st1:country-region>, and my desire is to serve them in whatever way the Lord provides.<span style=""> </span>Already I am discovering many exciting possibilities.<span style=""> </span>One of my dreams is to one day return to <st1:place st="on"><st1:country-region st="on">Iran</st1:country-region></st1:place> and open a Bible training school.<span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Verdana;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Verdana;">The Lord has blessed me so much over the past five years since I became a refugee.<span style=""> </span>Even though I have endured great pain and trials, I have come to know Him who is life itself.<span style=""> </span>His forgiveness and love is the greatest treasure anyone can ever know.<span style=""> </span>How can I do anything less than serve Him with all my heart and soul?<span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>Scotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16792409625047970709noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19876398.post-1150641477299376492006-06-18T17:35:00.000+03:002011-11-12T10:31:48.415+02:00"O" 's story<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
He lost his mother when he was seven and within three years, his father also, and was left to the care of the extended family. He was sent to school, but could not find his place in it. He escaped and lived as a street cat for a few years, looking after himself, until an uncle discovered him and took him under his wing. The uncles ‘wing’ and the job he offered to teach him was drug trafficking! It was just a matter of time before falling into police hands. He escaped a couple of times and eventually joined some men who were leaving behind the calamities of Afghanistan searching for a better world.<br />
He entered six different European counties, was caught without papers and expelled. So he ended up in Athens and one day came through the gates of Helping Hands. Bewildered, hurting, with no walls within him, despaired yet daring to hope, craving for true love and affection.<br />
<br />
He was only 16 and a bit!!!!! Survivor and fighter but damaged.<br />
<br />
He was loved by all here and was introduced to Jesus. He took some steps towards Him but he faltered. The conflicts within him and an amazingly sensitive heart made his sorrows unbearable at times, and so, last September, his life, he felt, came to a dead end and he suddenly took off and left us, ending up in Holland.<br />
<br />
Prayers, many prayers followed him.<br />
<br />
Here are some of the messages some of the messages that came through my mobile phone during the months of August and September last year, at the height of his distress.<br />
<br />
Aug 04<br />
Dear Kallia, my name is hope but I have not hope to life. I miss you. I want to see you. Love from "O"<br />
<br />
Aug 04<br />
BROKEN HEART IS FOR ME. ALONE IS FOR ME. BUT GOD IS FOR WHO? God forget me. ALONE is for me, sad is for me but God is for others. I want dead.<br />
<br />
Aug 04<br />
Dear Kallia , please do not forget me. You are my last hope. I cry. You love me or you kill me. I am alone , my mother.<br />
<br />
Aug 04<br />
FORGET ME FOR EVER. Angels death say Hello to i. Come with us.<br />
<br />
22 Aug 04<br />
Forget me. I died.<br />
<br />
Sep 04<br />
Dear Kallia, how are you. Love from my deep heart<br />
<br />
Sep 04<br />
Dear Kallia and Jim, today I went to see baptism. I want to change myself but everytime I am sad. I am thinking about before, future, time and life. Every people they think bad about me. I sit in park and I thinking. Some people saw me and think I am crazy.Yes I am.<br />
<br />
Sep 04<br />
Dear Kallia, today I spoke with brother Jim. He listens to me like my father, all day I was thinking about this. I am not fighter, I am weak. I swim but until when<br />
<br />
5 Sep 04<br />
Mountains can fly,<br />
Ocean can dry,<br />
You can forget me,<br />
But never can I.<br />
<br />
And here is, a year later, his latest e-mail message found in my computer, sent<br />
from a refugee complex, in Holland!!!!!!!<br />
<br />
25 Aug. 05<br />
Dear Kallia and Jim. How are you? I am good. How is life with you? I hope you have a good time. I love you for ever…<br />
If I can do anything for you just tell me, I have God now.<br />
<br />
A lady who is looking into the possibility of adopting him wrote, ‘…he is in the Word constantly and I truly believe he is walking in the path of God…A lady missionary working in Holland writes, ‘during one of the projects in Amsterdam he personally led two Muslim boys to the Lord’!!!!!<br />
<br />
Dear brothers and sisters, is any tragedy in this universe bigger then the Atonement of Jesus Christ, and is any wilderness more desperate than the desperate pursuing of the Divine Lover?<br />
<br />
Dear partners in this ministry, please continue to intercede on the behalf of this young man until Christ is fully formed in him. His name is "O".<br />
<br />
AND HERE IS O's STORY TOLD FROM HIMSELF...<br />
<br />
My father was born in Kabul and lost his father when he was 10 years old. They killed his father and he was a policeman in Kabul. When he was 12 years old his mother fell from 2nd floor of the house when she was hanging out the clothes, and she died. My father grew up with different families. When he was 18 he started working for politics. He was first a soldier and when he was 20 years old the government sent him to Russia to special politic university in Moscow. He met my mother there and a relationship they started. After 4 1⁄2 years he finished university and moved back to Afghanistan but he was already married with my mother. He was 6 months in Afghanistan andthey sent him back to Moscow to keep him working.... like making bombs... like the different projects they had between different countries. After 10 months I was born in Rjazan, Russia (1988?). (“The calendar years in Iran are different than in the Netherlands calendar.”)<br />
<br />My mother died in the hospital from operation when I was born. When this happened it changed my father inside and he decided to stop his work. Then he told the government I don’t want to kill more people. It's enough to kill people by making guns or bombs for killing people. And the government told him that he must work for them because they sent him to university.<br />
<br />For the time they can use him and he must not stop the work. Also he knew what project they wanted to do, and when this happened my father took the stuff he had, like papers and documents that he had from his work. We went and we were refugees in Iran because they told him that if he didn’t work they will kill his son and they will kill him also.<br />We lived in Tehran and I grow up in Tehran. We had a very hard life. My father was going to work in the shop making watches. I was going to school. We were hiding ourself and every house we were living in we were using other names. In the house we had a gun because he was afraid. We moved every year to other houses. In Iran we were really afraid. We did not have contact with anybody.<br />
<br />One time 10 pm in the night the phone in our house was ringing. I was 13 years old. My father took the phone and after he answered he was really nervous. He went very fast and took the keys for his motorcycle, and his wallet, and his phone book, and some papers and told me go hide in the closet and not to come out until he is back. He went out and after a few minutes he came back again and said I must go with him. He was really afraid. I was asking him what is wrong. What happened? He said don’t worry I am here. I won’t leave you. We got on the motorcycle and we went to downtown Tehran. He told me to sit on the motorcycle and told me he would be back. If somebody comes near you and something happens, or you hear a voice or something, just run away. After 20 minutes my father came back. His face was white and on his forehead was blood. On his left hand was blood. He was not normal. He was dragging his foot.<br />
<br />I asked him what happened. He didn’t tell me. He said to just jump on the motorcycle.<br />We rode to the street that was going to Khavaran. When we got there in the middle of the street he stopped and he said to me to get off. I did, and right after I got off he fell down with the motorcycle. His face was really white and his eyes were red and from his mouth was coming blood and some yellow stuff. Also from an ear was coming blood. Also when he fell down he was shaking all over his body and suddenly it stopped. The people in the street helped me take him to the hospital on that street. The doctor said this man is dead. After 30 minutes a police car came and took me to the police station.<br />
<br />I was 1 week there in the jail with all kinds of people like killers. I was really afraid. In the jail was 5 men they hurt me so much. The room was dark and they raped me. After 1 week a soldier came and told me to come out. I went out and I went to the office there and they told me I could go.<br />
<br />I asked him what happened with my father. He said to me you must be happy we let you go from here and forget your father. If you know what problem your father had you would not go out from this police station. In the one week when I was there they were asking me what I know about my father and what happened. I was saying I don’t know. They asked me do you think your father had a heart attack or something like that. I asked where is the body of my father and they didn’t answer me. They gave me back the key of the motorcycle and the wallet of my father, but they did not give me back the telephone book or the papers that were with him.<br />
<br />After that I was going back to Khavaran to my house. When I went the door was closed. On the door was a paper from the bank saying we didn’t pay and it was closed. That day was the 3rd of the month and we payed already on the 1st. When I was coming out from the house one car came near me and they pushed me in. They covered my eyes and put something on my head. They tied up my hands and my feet on one chair. They started hitting me. And they startedasking questions from me, about the work of my father and what I know from him. And about where are the papers, the documents he was taking from Russia. They hit me and they broke my right hand, my left foot from inside was bruised from the hitting. My ribs were forced down from being hit in the chest with wood, something in their hand, and the man kicking me. Also they took hot water and poured it near my left knee. They cut with scissor my pinkie finger and on my index finger on my left hand. On the right they did the same. They were hitting me with brass knuckles and asking me the same questions. After 5 days one time I was on the floor. The things over my eyes were coming off. I saw the face of them – 3 men and one woman. They were just talking to each other in the room. Two of them look like Afghani people. The woman and the other man looked Russian – blond hair. After that they understand that I saw them. They put me on the chair again and started using electricity and a cable with wires on my chest and on my neck. After that I fainted again.<br />
<br />
Next day one of the men came to me and he said this is your last day. If you tell us where are the documents we will let you go. If you don’t tell we will kill you. I had fallen down near the windows. My hands and feet were not tied. The window was open and the man busy with some books on the other side of the room. Something in myself said just jump from this window. I was really afraid. I was on the 2nd floor of the house but I jumped and I came down on the grass. The house was like a villa. I was just running far, as far as I can from that place. I went to one park and I sleep three days in a park, cold weather. I sat on a bench and I couldn’t move. My foot was swollen and it could not move. All my body was in pain.<br />
<br />Somebody came and said my name. I saw it was the friend of my father. He asked me what happened and I tell all the things to him. He took me to a hospital. I was 1 month in the hospital. They did an operation on my hand and my foot, and treated my burns. After that the friend of my father said he was going to Turkey and he asked me if I wanted to go with him or not.<br />
<br />Actually he said I must go with him or these people will take you and kill you. Also he made a photo of my injuries. He said if you go to another place you will have something to show to them.<br />
<br />From Iran to Turkey we were one month on the way. First we took a bus from Tehran to Kordestan. We crossed the border with a horse. After that we were walking in the mountains and after we went with one truck to Ankara. And from there we went with another truck to Istanbul.<br />
<br />I was in Istanbul 4 months. First in Haghsarai and after another house in Zatunbornu. After that the friend was leaving to Greece. He took me and we were 5 days on the way. First we went by truck to the border. We crossed the border with a boat. In that time so much people died because of drowning, but we made it. We were in Athens and the friend of my father left earlier than me from Greece. He went to Norway.<br />
<br />I was living alone in Athens. It was there I became a Christian. I was baptized and grew in my faith. Then was beginning other problems for me with Muslim Afghanistan people about the religion. I was talking with so many people about Jesus. Also I was going to Helping Hands. They gave me a house because I had nothing. I didn’t have clothes, even I was taking food from the garbage and eating that, from hunger.<br />
<br />When I became a Christian everything changed. The Muslim Afghanis were trying to tell me to leave this religion. If you don’t do it we will kill you. One night a group was coming and they were just hitting me. In the middle of this time I decided to leave Greece. I try to do that. I asked one smuggler to make a passport for me. That time was the Olympic Games 2004.<br />Near the end of the Olympic Games one time in the night I was walking to the house, I was living at the Helping Hands house. A bunch of people came and they had something hiding their faces. They put me into something... like plastic... like a tarp... my hand was tied and my feet were tied. They put me in the trunk of a car. They took me to a place near the sea and they threw me into the water. I was lucky because at that time a boat... God saved me... the boat of the police was crossing there. They took me out from the water and asked me who did this to you? I did see their faces. I didn’t know what to tell them.<br />
<br />That time I was afraid and I took the passport and I went with the bus to one island of Greece. From there I bought a ticket to Italy. I tried first time, and second time, but I couldn’t. They understand that the passport is not mine. I came out from where the ship is and two boys tried to take me to a dark place to rob me. Again I was lucky because the police were crossing there. God was with me. After that I went back to the harbor and bought the ticket of the last ship. I prayed and I went inside the ship without a problem.<br />
<br />After 15 hours I was in Italy, Ancona. From Ancona I took a train to Rome. When I was in Rome I only had 2 euros and I was sleeping in the street for one week. I remember a woman I met in Greece from America and she was living in Virginia. Her name is Darlene. I went to a calling center where after the phone conversation you pay. My call was exactly 2 euros so I could pay when I came out. Darlene sent me about $300.<br />
<br />With that money I bought a ticket to Paris. From Paris I bought a ticket to Amsterdam. In Amsterdam I called a woman living in Netherlands. I had her number from the friend of my father. She said to me if I say I was in Greece they will send me back to there. I must tell some other thing. I was afraid to go back to Greece because I tried so much to live there and I had so much problem with the Muslim Afghanistan people. That is why I lied. Also I was thinking if I tell the story of my father the police of Netherlands will get me and put me in prison. For me police is the same as those Iran. I keep that in myself.<br />
<br />About two months ago I had a phone call from Norway at 4 am. Somebody in the place of the friend of my father was calling me. He was trying to know where I am living, but I understand it was not my father’s friend but another man. I had so many phone calls in these two months from them. In the first phone call he told me I have something for you. I asked what is that. He said it is the phone book of your father and it has your picture<br />in it.<br />
<br />They told me my father was a terrorist and they asked me what I know about my father and if I have those documents from my father I must send back to them. They said to me if I know something about my father or if I see what is inside the document I am one of them. If somebody is in this work they can never get out of it. Like your father--he wanted to stop but we killed him.<br />
<br />The last phone call I had was 1 December. They gave me one week time to send the documents back to them. They said if I don’t send back to them they will kill me. And they told me exactly what they were doing in that villa in Iran to me. I am really afraid of them. I don’t want to start again running to other country because when I came in Netherlands was beginning a big rest for me. Netherlands was a paradise for me. Here I can go to school. They give me house, food, clothes, I don’t need to be afraid from people. I had very nice time till now here with so many friends from church and school.<br />
<br />I decide to trust God and the government and that is why I tell all this story. Till now I saw so many things from God and now I trust Him. He has blessed me with so much. When I have trust in Him I must tell the truth. Now I just tell the truth. I am sure God is with me and He is helping me. Also I pray He touch the heart of the person who is reading this also.</div>Scotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16792409625047970709noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19876398.post-1149505044944540282006-06-05T13:56:00.000+03:002006-06-05T13:57:24.946+03:00"A" 's storyMy name is " A" . I'm 28 years old, and I from Tehran, Iran. I am married and I have a one and a half year old son. I've lived outside Iran for almost 7 years. I was in Turkey for 6 years. I have been in Greece now for almost 7 months.<br /><br />4 years ago I returned to Iran to get married, then I returned to Turkey with my wife. After 2 years, God gave us our son. I gave him as a gift to God to use him anywhere. Because of the economic problems in Turkey, I sent my wife and son back to Iran 9 months ago. I came to Greece by myself. <br /><br />I grew up in a strict Muslim house. When I was 16 years old, I started work as a tailor in a shop that employed 40 people. The owner of the shop was an Armenian Christian. One day he came to visit the shop. He came up to me-it was a Thursday, the last day of the Muslim week, when my week's work was already over-and I was just sewing a pair of trousers for myself. When he saw my job, he asked if I would like to work with him privately. Two weeks later, I quit that job and started working for him in his house. His customers were Armenian as well. His house was far from our house, so my employer decided to let me sleep at his house and I would go home on weekends. When I told my parents, they didn't want to let me go because they believed that my employer's family was unclean (because they were not Muslims), that I should not eat with them, and that I shouldn't even accept their money. But I told my parents, "I know them, and they are really polite, and I love them." My employer had 2 children. His son was 4 years younger than me, and his daughter was 6 years younger, so we became exactly like brothers and sisters. His wife loved me like her children. She didn't let me wash my own clothes but would do my laundry herself. I worked for them for 5 years, and during that whole time, they would talk about Jesus. His wife was a wonderful believer. She wanted to make sure that I knew that Jesus was the Son of God and He is the only way to salvation. <br /><br />When I got older, I was had to go into the army. I became friends with my fellow soldiers and became more like them. I can say that, before, when I was in my employer's house, I didn't sin, but in the two years I was with my fellow soldiers, I sinned enough to send me straight to hell. After a couple of months, I was reassigned in the army to the religious police division, where I was taught how to interrogate and brainwash people. There was a mullah (Islamic religious leader) there who encouraged us to engage in Sighe, a sort of "short" marriage, blessed by a mullah, that only lasts between a man and woman for a certain period of time (from two months to one year). [The orphanages in Iran are mostly filled with children from these kinds of "marriages."] So I did. But after a couple of these Sighe, something inside me told me, "Don't you know anything about Jesus? Why are you doing this?" So I decided to walk separately from my friends. It was difficult because I was in the army. <br /><br />When I got out of the army, I went to Turkey. I didn't know there was an Iranian church in Turkey. I'd never been to church because my employer was afraid to bring me to a church back in Iran. [It is forbidden for Muslims to enter a church or for Christians to speak about their faith to Muslims.] After I had been in Turkey for 4 years, I was walking in the open-air market with my wife when I saw a man and a woman approaching us. They had heard us speaking Farsi. They gave us a book called What Is Christianity?and invited us to the church. I had talked to my wife prior to that about Christianity and my employer, and she was interested in Christianity too, but she didn't know anything about it. So we were so glad to find the church in Istanbul. We went to the church and Sister Gity from England was there. That was our first day in church. We were so impressed. After ten months, we saw the fruit of Jesus in our lives. We also saw a lot of miracles in our child's birth. So we decided to give our lives to Jesus and ask Him to use us and live in us. Last year, we got baptized. <br /><br />I want to share some of the things that have happened since I've believed in Jesus. Recently, my wife was sick because she was alone because we had been separated for so long. She was so depressed that she couldn't move half of her body. She couldn't sleep at all for a whole week. It was during the First Timothy Project, and Brother Themis asked us to all pray for each other. Brother Sam prayed for me. Two days later, when I came back to Athens from attending the Project, I called Iran. It was 10 o'clock at night, and I woke my wife. She told me that she had been able to sleep for two days, from exactly the time that Sam prayed for her. I thank God for that. <br /><br />I believe that all of our problems can be taken to God by faith. I wish for all the believers to refresh their spirits with faith and prayers. And I pray for unbelievers to open their hearts to have Jesus' love and peace inside. The Grace of our God, Jesus Christ, be with you forever.Scotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16792409625047970709noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19876398.post-1149504783956942832006-06-05T13:52:00.000+03:002006-06-05T13:53:03.960+03:00"E"'s StoryFinally, a Purpose!<br /><br />Into this universe, and why not knowing, nor whence, like water willy-nilly flowing:<br />and out of it, as wind along the waste, I know not whither, willy-nilly blowing.<br /> - Omar Khayam, Rubaiyyat"<br /><br />As a boy in Iran, I dreamt big. I grew up in a military base, where my father served as an officer in the Iranian Army. Ours was an orderly life, filled with predictable days and practical goals. I was a good kid and I did what was expected of me. I was also ambitious and saw everything as a great adventure. I loved to run through the fields and race through the soldiers' obstacle courses; a small warrior conquering imaginary enemies. <br /><br />But as I grew up I became restless. I felt confined in that military base and my dreams spilled over the walls. Alone at night, I dreamt of leaving Iran and of traveling to faraway countries. I also dreamt of victory, of freedom, and of great experiences of many types. But beneath these goals was a deeper dream: to find my purpose. I thought that I could achieve this through escape and success, so I was driven by my dream and determined to make it real. <br /><br />Every dream requires a first step, and my first step was to go to university. I graduated with a degree in English, then taught in Tehran. Soon I'd saved enough money to take another step toward my dream: leaving Iran. After four failed attempts, I finally crossed the border into Turkey. I headed to Istanbul, found a job, and met other Iranians who also dreamt of going west. We were young, energetic and confident. Together, we planned our escape to Greece. <br /><br />Going to Greece was a dream but the journey was a nightmare. We took a boat and then walked for a week, growing wearier every day from the cold and hunger. En route, we were falsely accused us of goat stealing and I used most of my money to pay off the accuser. Finally, we stumbled into Athens, rented a room in Omonia, and set off to find work. <br /><br />Slowly, each of us found jobs and settled down. I didn't like being in Athens, though, so I kept myself busy by working, learning English and saving money to buy fake passports. Armed with these, I was free to leave Greece. I bought the passports but needed money for tickets, so I continued working. But I couldn't save money. I was getting discouraged and felt that my dream was fading. What did the future hold? Would I be a refugee in Athens forever? <br /><br />During this time, a friend invited me to a Christian church. Having nothing better to do, I went. I didn't know much about Christianity, but like most Muslims, I'd heard that Jesus was a prophet. To me, He was a myth, like Ali Baba. <br /><br />But as I walked into the church, I could see that the Christians had a very different idea. To them He was real, and He was everything. I watched, amazed, as they praised Him joyfully and prayed to Him lovingly. They seemed to know Him as a friend, and yet they spoke of Him as God. Several told how Jesus had saved them and had given their lives a purpose. They called Jesus their Savior and their Lord.<br /><br />Their Savior? I didn't understand why these people needed to be saved or how a myth could give them purpose. To me, the Christians' dependence on Jesus was a weakness and their enthusiasm was foolish. I looked down on their naiveté. <br /><br />But then something happened that melted my defenses: the pastor began to speak. He spoke of God in a way I had never heard. And he spoke of Him so passionately and pragmatically that I wanted to hear more. <br /><br />First, the pastor said that God loves us. He read from the Injil, "God so loved the world that He gave His only son, so that everyone who believes in Him will not die but will have eternal life." (John 3:16) The pastor said that one of the names for God is "Abba", the Hebrew word that small children use to address their fathers. He said that God loves His children more tenderly than the most attentive father on earth.<br /><br />He said that God is a good father who wants to give His children a wonderful life. He read from the Injil: "I came that they might have life, and might have it abundantly," (John 10:10). Like a good father, God has a plan for His children. "For I know the plans that I have for you, declares the Lord, plans for good and not for evil, to give you a future and a hope." (Jeremiah 29:11) Furthermore, God loves us so much that He offers us the gift of spending Eternity with Him in Heaven. <br /><br />All of this seemed too good to be true. God loves me? God has good plans for my life? God wants to give me a future and a hope, and spend Eternity with me? I wanted to know more. If God loved me and had a plan for my life, how could I feel that love and find that purpose? How could I become the child of such a wonderful Father? <br />Perhaps, I thought, I had never known God's love and plan because I hadn't tried hard enough to please Him. Perhaps I could become His child by working harder or by living a perfect life. <br /><br />Yes, said the pastor, perfection was necessary. But none of us can be perfect. Even if we follow religious rules, perform good deeds, fast, and go on pilgrimage, we still won't be holy. We are sinners, said the pastor, and our sin separates us from God. The Injil makes this clear: "For all have sinned and come short of the glory of God." (Romans 3:23); "As it is written, 'There is none righteous, not even one." (Romans 3:10); and "All our righteous deeds are like a filthy garment." (Isaiah 64:6). <br /><br />I had never considered myself a sinner. In fact, I thought I was a good person. But if good deeds couldn't save me and make me right with God, what was the answer? <br /><br />The answer, said the pastor, is Jesus. Jesus can save us because Jesus is more than a good prophet; Jesus is God's perfect Son. He died on the cross and rose from the dead to pay the debt for our sins. When Jesus was dying on the cross, his final word was "tetelestai", a Greek phrase meaning "the debt has been paid, the work is finished." If a person believes in Jesus, God forgives his sins, adopts him as His child, and promises him Heaven after death (I John 5:11-13). <br /><br />When the pastor finished speaking, he invited us to pray. I didn't pray. But the next week, I went back to that church. I arrived early and saw several young people kneeling in prayer. Suddenly, my spirit was moved and I burst into tears. I was so embarrassed that I ran into the bathroom to hide. <br /><br />As I wept, my vision cleared and I felt as though a veil had been lifted from my eyes. I knew then that God loved me, and that I needed Jesus. I knew then that I could spend the rest of my life running from country to country in search of purpose and peace, but that only Jesus could make my dream real. I prayed and told Jesus everything, and then asked Him to be my Lord and my Savior. <br /><br />Since then, God has given me my deepest desire: great peace, and a purpose higher than any I could have imagined. I know that because of Jesus, I am God's child and my sins are forgiven. I was restless and afraid for my future, but now I know that God is leading me. I may not get everything I want, but God will give me everything I need. I now have the greatest purpose on earth: the privilege of serving my Savior and God. And when I die, I will see Him face-to-face and spend Eternity with Him. Now that is an adventure. <br /><br />I traveled the world and finally found my home in Jesus. When I doubted my fate, God had a purpose behind every step of my refugee journey. I believe that God called me to travel west, to come to Athens, to attend the Christian church, to hear about Jesus and to believe in Him.<br /><br />Before I knew God, He knew me and loved me. Before I heard Him, He was calling me. <br /><br />I believe that He is calling you, too. Will you answer?Scotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16792409625047970709noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19876398.post-1149504586688178672006-06-05T13:48:00.000+03:002006-06-05T13:49:46.710+03:00"D" 's TestimonyA New Life <br /><br />When someone becomes a Christian, he becomes a new person inside.<br />He is not the same any more. A new life has begun!<br /> - II Corinthians 5:17 <br /><br />As a young man in Afghanistan, I knew something about Jesus. Like other Muslims, I thought He was a special prophet and an amazing person. I respected Him and even believed that He rose from the dead, but I didn't believe that He was God.<br /><br />Gradually, my interest in Jesus grew and my ideas changed. This began when I had a dream about Jesus. I'd been thinking about my future, and told my parents that I wanted to change my religion and leave Afghanistan. You can imagine how they responded! They said the same thing that your parents would have said: They told me I was crazy. I had been a very religious Muslim so they couldn't understand my change of heart; but they loved me and didn't forbid my pursuits.<br /><br />Then I had a second dream: I dreamt that I left Afghanistan, converted to Christianity, and was being baptized in the sea. This dream was really outrageous since I had little hope of escaping Afghanistan and no reason to change religions. But that dream never left me and it kept my interest in Jesus alive. <br /><br />When I was 17 years old, I rejected Islam and began searching for another religion. Some of my friends who knew of my search called me an atheist. <br /><br />But Afghanistan is not the place for religious experimentation. I knew that if I wanted to learn more about Jesus, I would need to leave my country. To prepare me for the journey, my sister's husband suggested that I learn English. My parents, who had never learned to read their own language, cheered me on. If my dream of leaving Afghanistan became real, I wanted to be ready. <br /><br />As I studied, something wonderful happened: I met an American family of Christians in Afghanistan. They welcomed me like a son and soon I could see that their lives were different. They were honest, gracious, and full of hope. I was attracted to their optimism and wondered how I could find the same joy. In those days, as I dreamt about the future and tried to find the truth, I felt as if there might be a door through which I could walk to begin a new life. I didn't know how to find that door, but I felt that these Christians were closer to it than anyone I'd ever met before. <br /><br />I loved that family and wanted to become like them. I though that I could do this by going to America. I asked the mother how I might accomplish this. It isn't easy, she said. Go step by step. If God wants you to go to America, He'll lead you there.<br /><br />Step by step, my journey began. From Afghanistan, I went to Pakistan, and then on to Iran. There, my curiosity about Jesus grew. How could I find out more about this forbidden faith? I found my answer in an unlikely place: on the street. As I wandered in the markets, I saw a vendor selling Bibles. I bought one and marveled that I hadn't been caught, since buying Bibles is illegal for Muslims in Iran. <br /><br />I began to devour that Bible, reading first the Old and then the New Testaments. Much of what I read mystified me but I continued my search. I tried to attend a Christian church in Iran, but the Christians feared that I was a Muslim and wouldn't let me enter the building. I waited outside, tried to listen to the message, and then went on my way. <br /><br />As I traveled west, other significant events helped me to understand more about Jesus. In Iran, I saw a movie that claimed that He was the Son of God, and that He died on the cross to pay the price for the sins of the world. When I arrived in Turkey, I went to Catholic and Orthodox churches and learned a bit more. <br /><br />When I arrived in Athens, my search took on a new urgency. I slept in Alexandreas Park for two months and was relieved when someone there told me about Helping Hands in Omonia. At Helping Hands, I ate soup and met other guys my age who were traveling west. I went to the English and Bible lessons, and I liked the friendly Christians who ran the center. <br /><br />I especially liked the Bible teacher. I learned many good things about Jesus and got a clearer understanding of the Bible by attending his classes. The teacher told us often that Jesus could give a person a new life. He read from the Injil: When someone becomes a Christian he becomes a new person inside. He is not the same any more. while going to America might give me a better life, knowing Jesus would give me the best life. <br /><br />That wasn't the answer I wanted to hear, so I took matters into my own hands. I joined a group of men who planned to go to Italy. As we waited for the ferry boat in Patra, a woman approached me and handed me a book about Jesus. I was stunned. There are hundreds of people here in the crowd, I thought to myself. Why did she give this book to me? <br /><br />Meanwhile, passengers were boarding the ferry boat and my friends urged me to follow them. But I realized that I didn't want to follow them, and felt an urge to return to Athens. I was sure that an important encounter awaited me there, and so I returned alone as my friends sailed west. <br /><br />When I got back to Omonia, I marched into Helping Hands. I told the Bible teacher about the woman in Patra and said that I wanted to become a Christian. The Bible teacher listened patiently and then asked me why I wanted to change my religion. Do you want to become a Christian to go to America, or to know Jesus? he asked. <br /><br />That was a hard question, and I didn't know the answer. I realized that my motives were mixed. I asked God to show me which religion I should choose. Oh God, I prayed, Show me the way! Soon I had a third dream: I dreamt of the cross of Christ, and I heard Jesus say, I am the Way, the Truth and the Life. No one comes to the Father, but through me. (John 14:6). <br /><br />Shortly after that, the Bible teacher asked me to translate some of the Koran into English. As I read the passage describing Jesus' birth, I compared the Koran's account with the Injil's, and was convinced that Jesus wasn't only a prophet, but the Son of God who came to earth to die for my sins and to give me a new life. <br /><br />That moment of belief was the important encounter that awaited me in Athens -- the most important encounter of my life. Soon I was baptized in the sea, thus fulfilling my boyhood dream.<br /><br />What have I gained from following Jesus? First, joy. I'm very happy because I know that Jesus has saved me from the sins that should have condemned me. I'm also happy because through Jesus, I can know God, and can talk to Him like a son. God also encourages me during the hard times when the realities of the world bring me pain. Last year, for example, I had a bad accident in Athens and I was tempted to doubt God. But I learned that suffering builds my faith. <br /><br />Trusting Jesus as my Savior has also helped my attitude. Before I was a Christian, I was a good, hard worker who minded the law. But I was also very proud and I judged other people harshly. Now I am humbled that Jesus took the punishment for my sins and that I am only saved by His grace. God has given me love for my enemies, patience, and the peace that my life is safe in His hands. <br /><br />One of my favorite stories in the Injil is the story of Jesus and the demoniac who lived among the tombs. The man, tormented by demons and darkness, was hopeless. But Jesus healed him and gave him a new life. Before he left the man, Jesus said to him, Return to your house and describe what great things God has done for you. The man went away, proclaiming throughout the whole city what great things Jesus had done for him (Luke 8:38, 39). <br /><br />I feel like that man! Jesus has given me a new life, and He can give you a new life, too. <br /><br />As you read this, I am somewhere in Italy, or perhaps I am even further in my journey. I don't know if I'll ever see America, but that isn't important to me now. I have found the Door to a new life, and His name is Jesus. <br /><br /><br />Scott and Vicki McCracken<br />Panagiotou 3<br />Papagou 15669<br />Athens, Greece<br /><br />Tel: (30) 210-65-28-191<br />E-mail: scott.mccracken@iteams.org<br />Web: www.ITRefugeeMinistry.org <br />(click "TEAMS", click "ATHENS)Scotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16792409625047970709noreply@blogger.com0