Swirling Thoughts while on a Swing

Recently I posed a question to some of my friends. It was really a request in the form of questions. A request that for my birthday instead of gifts, that the people who know me would answer one of several questions. One of the options was to pick a picture they might want to know more about. Another was to answer the question: "What is it like to be on the other side of me?" 

The birthday messages flowed in and what I gained was more insightful and helpful than any present would have been. Not only did it give me clarity and perspective but also allowed me to go back to various times and places in my own life. Times where I had crossed paths with the people sharing with me or timestamps in my own journey. 

This was one of the latter. Just a picture but in my mind a timestamp. Like a timestamp on the outside of a manilla folder which contains pages and is filled with feelings, images, questions, and so much more. 

The picture, taken in a refugee camp in Greece. A refugee camp run by incredible volunteers from around the world. This was one of several refugee camps on the island and although I did not directly work within this camp, there was a day we had been walking on the shore and passed by this camp.  We were invited to walk through it. The camp was quiet that day. No boats had arrived recently thus leaving this camp at the time rather empty of people and yet there was a presence that still remained. An energy perhaps from all those who had come into and left from this camp. It was a very different space than the busy loud camp of Moria I was used to spending days and nights in. 

Initially what struck me when walking into this space was what I did not see. There was no barbed wire or large gates and guards. Instead I saw hearts hanging on trees. I saw multiple languages, art, and even teddy bears in chairs and in cubbies. I saw color. There was a private place for mothers who had children to nurse their babies and there was a space where kids could read and play and even though I had been in Greece for days already, the thought of babies crossing borders and being on boats to flee was still something that I could not put into words. Then we walked into another room. One that was described to me as the "play therapy" room where kids could be and therapists could work with the kids to process trauma. Immediately my heart jumped. I thought, "THIS!!!" It was clearly my favorite room even though there was an element of sadness to the reality and although it was perhaps different than a play therapy office in the U.S. even still, I could see it and feel that this space very much provided a safe place for children. It was honestly hard not to hold back the tears as I heard about these spaces. I knew why they existed and I very much had seen the need for them. Even in my short time in Greece I had met more kids than I could count. What seemed to be missing though were places designed for kids. Schools. Art therapy. Safe places for them to play. Anything. This saddened me and it angered me. I kept thinking "we have to do better". "They deserve better than this". I was told it was just transitional but that only angered me more as I thought back to the times my life was in transition. Even in transitional times and places, I still needed safety and play. I still needed comfort and security. I still needed fun. So the answer of "its just transitional" was not good enough for me. 

In my heart and soul I continued to wrestle with all I was hearing and seeing and then in the moment I saw the swing, it was calling to me to sit down on it. Perhaps to find a bit of safety and comfort for me too. Swings, after all had always been a haven for me. I have been told that even before I was old enough to remember that I loved to swing and would spend hours swinging. Even beyond the toddler and elementary years, I would still find myself many times sitting on swings. Just feeling whatever was present within me. I was perfectly happy just sitting on the swing observing whatever was around me and simply being with me. The swing in so many ways took the place of a friend. It was the friend right there with me. Often it was only when the mosquitos would start eating me alive that I would decide to leave the comfort and of the swing. 

On this particular day in Greece I remember so clearly sitting on the swing and the thoughts and feelings present. A badge hanging around my neck but something that had become so familiar that it was forgotten about. What I could not forget was the cold I felt. It was brisk on this day but warmer than on previous days and I remember being so incredibly thankful for even just a few additional degrees of warmth from the sunshine coming through. I was also grateful for the decision I had made just a few days prior when I convinced myself to borrow the jacket I was wearing from the clothing tent. Something I initially struggled with because surely someone else needed it more. The argument in my head was settled when I told myself that I would just borrow it and give it back to the clothing tent before I left. Thinking about my jacket led my thoughts to thinking about all the kids who would come to this camp without jackets. Cold and wet. I had seen this already. In the nights before. Then just as that thought drifted in, it drifted away. The next thought came. A thought in the form of a longing and a hope. I hoped that the kids who would come here would find comfort in this swing just like I had found comfort in swings over the years. I wondered how many of them might have had swings back in Syria or Iraq. A world that perhaps for them now felt so far away yet one that I knew would still show up in their dreams for years to come.  

Sitting on the swing that day there was a swirling of so many thoughts and feelings within. My head could not yet process it all and my heart did not feel like it could hold anymore but on this day, the swing could hold it. It could hold and handle what I was not sure I could. It was strong enough even when I felt I wasn't. It gave me a moment to sit and simply be. It offered me the reminder of other times in my life where I had gained just an ounce of courage and strength while sitting on a swing. This courage and strength gave me hope. Hope that the kids coming through this space could make it. That they could find freedom and hope and life beyond the war.  That after the tears that perhaps in this space they might find laughter and joy and the ability to smile and to play. A deep hope arose within me on the swing that day that all entering this camp would feel welcome and loved. Eventually I left from the swing and as I stood up and walked away from the swing, I vowed to remember this camp and to share how it could be done. To talk about each of the camps I was in and to speak to the reality and the possibility.