My daughter is sick, very sick. She is too weak and tired to walk further, so I carry her. Every step of the way I cry out, "God, please help."
Our country, Syria, is at war. Our home is destroyed. Most of our family are dead. We are forced to leave. We have no other choice. We had a good life in Syria, but that life is over. Everything we owned is gone, and our youngest daughter is on the verge of death.
Forcing our way through a dense crowd, we get a glimpse of the refugee camp. Inside the gate, a young man is busy feeding the masses. Having nothing to lose, I call out to him, "Sir! Please, help."
With tears filling his eyes, the young man motions for me to follow him. I am led to a plastic building. The nurses inside do not speak my language; so, the young man translates as they say, "Sir, your daughter is suffering from severe dehydration. If we do not get her to a hospital immediately, she will die. Where is her documentation?" "Documentation," I heard myself say. "It is with my wife outside the gates of the camp."
With urgency, the young man and I passed through the gates, searching for my wife, but to no avail. The police surrounded us and began to shout, "Get back inside the camp." I try to explain my situation, but their angry faces show they do not care. I blurt out, "Sir, what if it was your daughter that was dying"? In response, the officers yanked my daughter out of my arms, threw her sick body to the ground, and forced me back inside the camp.
At that moment, the atmosphere changed. Over ten thousand people moved forward in unison, demolishing everything in their path. Soon, they would be inches away from my daughter, whom I could not protect. Then, I saw the young man running. He placed himself between the enraged crowd and armored Macedonian military personnel, protecting my daughter and carrying her to safety. The authorities took his badge and escorted him off the premises.
I never found out what happened to that young man. Maybe someday I will have the opportunity to thank him. Because of his actions, my daughter is alive and doing well. I can not help but wonder, "Who was that young man?"
Dear reader, the author of this story was that young man. Because you have chosen to support missions, he was able to save the life of four-year-old Amira.
Winston Churchill once said, "We make a living by what we get, but we make a life by what we give." What are you willing to give, so that, one person may have the chance to know Christ?