My mother is back home—in Syria. She has cancer. I can’t be with her; I can’t comfort her.
I was a tall man before I lost my legs. I cultivated the land. Every fruit you can imagine: Oranges, pears, grapes, cherries—and figs. Too many figs! But the vegetation is disappearing because of the war. No oxygen—no life.
I was smuggled across the border into Sudan, then travelled by foot through the desert to Egypt. Many people died on that desert-crossing. I don’t know why I lived. But I thank God for it.
They came in the morning—early in the morning—and put me in prison for my Christian faith. My wife and children searched for me. After three months, they found me. We are free now, and grateful—and we want to give back to our new country.
We left our beautiful village and moved into camps. We couldn't work—it wasn't permitted. At night, we slipped out of the camps and found odd jobs to feed our families. Now, I am still trying to feed my family—I'm working three jobs.
They came across the border, killed my family, left me for dead. I spent many months recovering in the hospital.
I am safe. I am strong. I am hopeful.
"For I know the plans I have for you," declares the Lord, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future." - Jeremiah 29:11