Why My Heart Isn’t Broken For Lesvos
I went to Lesvos prepared to cry.
I’d read the news, seen the pictures, heard the stories. I imagined the perilous, sometimes fatal sea crossing from Turkey to Greece and the collective mourning of thousands of families passing through chaotic refugee camps.
I expected my heart to be shattered. I expected to be broken by what I would experience, broken in a way I’d never been on the World Race, broken to a depth that would cause me to question the goodness of my God.
By all rights, Lesvos should be a place of despair and mourning. The refugees passing through have lost...