The news that we will be building shelters for nursing mothers came as the
perfect representation of the coming Christmas.
It suddenly made a lot of sense to welcome every small baby and their
mothers who were coming from God knows how far – from Syria, Iraq, even Afghanistan.
We quickly understood that it was not us delivering gifts to them. They became
a precious gift to us.
So the threatening look and feel of the camp, emerging grey from the thick
fog, became just a brilliant stage set for the next play in our lives. It was time to leave the fancy costumes
behind, and put on the heavy work suits and stoop down into the mud. It was
time for the fingers used to playing an instrument, to be bruised by nails and
hammers.
Did we curse when hammer missed the nail?
Did we argue with each other and with ourselves? Oh, yes!
And for that each of us asked for forgiveness - from our Master and from
each other. But the point was that the lower we got, the more mud we tasted,
the colder we got, the more the white buildings grew.
One day, Conrad and I dropped the tools and went around the corner to help
with yet another group of refugees coming by a special refugee train. I do not
know any more who it was, but someone gave me a bag and told me, "It is
full with the winter stuff: gloves and hats and scarfs". I started taking loads of that stuff into my
arms and moved into the crowd, observing who needed that extra protection from
cold. I made sure I matched colors,
especially for the women.
I gave one man a scarf and I immediately observed his son was in great need
of winter clothes, which I did not have. I only had a hand full of scarfs. I chose one and gave it to him - it was a
nice one, with many colors, the kind you can wear around your neck, or
transform it into a head band, or even into a nice, warm hood. The little boy loved it! He was smiling and smiling and smiling. He was addressing his father in their own
language. And suddenly he turned to me
and said, "You are my friend!". And he kept smiling. And then I did the most stupid thing. Because
I didn't know what else to do - I ruffled his dark hair and I turned around
and... left.
Keeping a sense of fashion in the middle of that dirty madness; and putting
our hearts out, filled with the holy touch of friendship - bold signs of
humanity, as the cold and wet and dark slime of death is visiting the nations! That
was just a little bit of how we, a small group of friends from several
countries, learned more about humanity and grace, suspended in time and fog,
just before Christmas 2015 in the Croatian Refugee Camp in Slavonski Brod.
Liviu Bocaniala
