I can’t imagine the intensity of your days…and the crushing fatigue of your nights. I hear your losses come too quickly for you to properly grieve, too often for your mother’s heart to count.
I’m so sorry.
I know you weep for your babies, the ones whose cries have now been silenced. While I know not that kind of heartbreak, I want to encourage you with hope.
I have met some of your children, ones who have ran to refuge in neighboring states and have washed up on shores in distant lands.
They are alive, beautifully alive.
I met one of your daughters, Maya, who gave birth in the midst of barrel bombs. She and her baby survived—thank God—and now she serves others with expanded love and prays for your peace each day. She asks God that love would rebuild your streets and repair your walls.
I met two of your sons, brothers, who journeyed by boat. They never knew school in your halls, and childhood play in your neighborhoods held adult-sized risks. Even still, they miss and love you dearly. Wahid, 8-years-old, dreams of being an engineer. He longs to restore you back to your glory. And Yuseph, 11-years-old, desires to be a doctor and help heal all Syrians. Your boys await your peace and unity.
I don’t know what’s ahead for you, but I pray the prayers of Maya and the dreams of Wahid and Yuseph come true…someday soon.
May love win,
In 2005 I had the gift of spending time in Aleppo…and in this past year I traveled to Lebanon and interviewed mothers from Aleppo and then went to Greece and got to interview children from the region.