Glimpses of Syria

 Syria. It's been in the news constantly the past while. We all know that there's fighting. Killing. Death. Uprising. Protesting. Maybe we don't know all the why's of what's going on. Maybe we've taken a minute to read a news report, or to pray for the Syrians who are experiencing the horrors of civil war.

Do you feel like it's removed from your daily life? Like you just can't imagine it?

Dawn has come again. You're awake, though weary after another restless, cold night. The fear of yesterday plagued your night with dreams … full of terror. You're hungry, thirsty, weary and cold. Your brother was killed four days ago, brutally murdered as he attempted to flee to safety; there was no funeral. In shocked silence his body was buried quickly, unceremoniously, under the guard of loyal friends. It is necessary to remain watchful. Even while the burial took place, shots were heard nearby. The tension never ends. Syrians are calling it a genocide. 

Your normal routine is a thing of the past. Tears fill your eyes as you go out on the streets. Houses and buildings that were once beautiful are now reduced to shambles, pockmarked with huge holes. Bricks and broken shards of rock and metal litter the street. Blood stains. Used shells. The silence is deafening. Those who have not fled the violence are fearful to leave their houses, choosing to remain out of sight. Establishments are shut down. Busy streets are now empty, littered with the evidence of war.

Then you see a child, standing in the middle of the street. She is beautiful, so innocent, surrounded by destruction ill-fitting with her beauty. Her simplicity and happiness in the midst of death and pain tears at your heart – you wish to take her, protect her, keep her safe from the horrors of what your city is enduring. She is holding a metal pan, reaching her arms out to the sky. She is so thirsty that she is willing to risk her life to catch a few snowflakes, to melt and to quench this terrible thirst. 

Her mother and baby brother cower inside the basement of their house. Father was killed in the fighting last week. He went out to find food to feed his hungry family, and he never came back. She smiles, oblivious to any threats around her. Her smile seems to betray her inner strength; she has not given up hope. She is alive. She is Syrian.

A hour later, fighting breaks out on your street, and the dreaded shelling begins afresh. You turn to flee, only to be knocked unconscious and thrown to the ground by a bomb exploding nearby. You lie on the street until you regain consciousness. Pain wracks your body, and you know it is impossible to try to walk to safety. You are alive, but just barely. Involuntary tears run down your face as the pain becomes nearly unbearable. You must get medical help – but there is no such aid.

Would you be horrified if I told you that this story has been repeated over 7,500 times? That over 500 of the casualties were children? And over 64 of those killed were mothers?

It's true. And this story continues today … right now as you're reading this. Syrians are living out something that we Americans cannot fathom. They're hungry. Thirsty. There is snow on the ground, and they have no electricity. No heat. The wounded suffer without adequate medical assistance. They are being killed by the hundreds every day. Children are dying simply due to lack of food and water.

And they feel totally forgotten – or ignored – by the world. They feel alone. They are living this tragedy without anyone to encourage them. One citizen writes from Syria a day ago: “God is the only one who cares. We are alone.” Is that true? Can we let that be true?  

This story is compiled from numerous accounts from the front lines in Syria. It's fictional, in that it is not about a single, real person. Rather it has been compiled from the lives of many Syrians who are living this nightmare, and who survived – so far - to tell their story.

I write this so you can know in a personal way what so many people are experiencing daily. I write so that you will never again be able to read a news report without feeling the pain and agony of a people not so unlike our own - and that it would drive you to action. Above all, I write so that you will pray, and that you will pray from a heart that has felt the pain of Syria. I believe Jesus weeps over Syria. Do we?