“Why are you here?”

My husband poured some hot coffee into the travel mug for me, and I headed out the door at 8:30 last Saturday morning to meet up with some friends for a walk. Just next to our neighborhood is a small park with roads weaving throughout groves of guava, pomegranate and orange trees. The park is scenic with views to the east looking into the hills that turn into a snow-capped mountain range; looking to the west is the coast and the beautiful blue of the Mediterranean Sea.

We are have been in a lockdown for a month, so my friends and I are taking advantage of a beautiful sunny day to get in some exercise but more so to enjoy some companionship. I get to the park entrance five minutes late for our agreed-upon time, knowing that in this culture, I’m still rather early, and I sit down on the curb waiting for them to arrive. I say good morning to a local French teacher as he begins his exercise. Two gardeners walk past and ask how I’m doing. Then I see my friends, three young ladies, walking toward the entrance.

As we begin walking together, we catch up on what’s been happening the past month. Stories of online school are something we can all relate to as my children have been online the majority of the year, one of the young ladies is a senior in high school, another is a senior in college, and the third tutors local kids. We commiserate over the challenges, laughing and cringing over the poor internet and thus very poor quality of online classes. We speculate when life will return to normal, when we can start to hold services at church or spend time in each other’s homes again.

We talk more about the future. One of my friends is looking to pursue higher education in psychology. Her first choice would have been in a master’s program here in the country, but due to a failing economy, that university is shutting down its master’s program. So it looks like she will be leaving the country, heading to England, Ireland or even the States to get the degree she wants. The high school senior joins in, talking about how she will also pursue her undergraduate degree here within her own country, but she knows if she wants a promising future, she will have to leave, at least for a time.

At this, the oldest of the three young ladies wants to have her say. She is not happy that they should have to leave. She hates the current situation in our country. From wildfires to revolution due to corruption in politics to a floundering economy only worsening because of lockdowns for COVID-19, she is angry about all that has happened in her homeland, her country, even down to the village she has lived in her whole life. “We have no hope,” she says, “we have no future.” She talks about how even her younger siblings will have to leave the country if they ever want a good degree and a profitable profession.

We take a turn in the grove heading down a long hill. I can see the sea in front of me, two large ships out on the horizon. My friend stops a few feet in front of me and turns to looks at me. “Why are you here?” In a culture that is typically more indirect, I’m a little caught off-guard, but I know her and I shouldn’t have been surprised. I let her continue. “Why would you come here? Our country is falling apart. Everyone I know and love is leaving for the hope of a better future. You’re crazy. Everyone else is trying to get their kids out of this country, but you brought your kids here intentionally! We have no hope. So why are you here?”

That is why we are here, because this nation, this region, is hurting and has no hope. We know that Jesus is the only True Hope. We know that he has the power to change lives, to offer light, to give the promise of a better future, the promise of eternal life through his loving gift of salvation. We would love to see this country flourishing, to be rid of the corruption that has infiltrated the government and systems in place. We would love for poverty to end and for people to be thriving here. But more than what we are dealing with right now in the present, we have a vision and a prayer for the future as well, and it is for hearts and lives to be turned to Christ, for more and more people in this region to find and receive the hope and joy and peace of salvation in him.

She listens to my answer and keeps on walking down the hill. We pass by the French teacher again, and a gardener stops to talk to us for a little while. The girls soon need to head home for breakfast with the family, and we leave with the promise to do this again soon because we have all been hungry for companionship recently.

I turn to head back to my home, drinking the last few sips of my coffee and pondering all that we’d talked about on our many laps around the park. Yes, we are crazy. We are the Americans who left a considerably more comfortable and easy life to come and live in the Middle East. We brought our three kids here, and we face many challenges daily. But our challenges are nothing compared to the lives of the people around us. And we walk in hope. Hope in the Lord, hope in his love for us, hope in the salvation he offers.

We pray that many more people, movements of people, will also reach out and take hold of his salvation and walk forward with us in hope.