Some changes; same God.

As I revive a relic from the past, some things have changed and others not: I never made it out to Greece this summer due to quarantining and a lack of flights, but God’s is (of course) still SOVEREIGN. Although I was disappointed not to be serving the 14,000 people calling Moria their home, I was privileged to spend the summer caring for those living at Keystone. Keystone is a 9-bed CAMHS psychiatric intensive care unit (PICU), this means that the team and I were fighting daily to keep the young people in our care alive as they themselves battled acute mental health issues.

This summer has been yet another reminder that God’s plans and ways are far higher and better than any of mine (Isaiah 55:8-9).

But summer seems a long time ago. I moved back to Bath at the beginning of September to start a year as one of the four ministry trainees at St Bart’s, the church I have called home whilst a student. It is an absolute privilege to serve those I have come to know and love over the last four years.

The trainee year consists of three parts: ministry training, practical training and Biblical training.

I’m attending the South West Gospel Partnership Ministry Training Course as part of the programme to help build my knowledge and understanding of God’s word and how to lead others in its understanding. It is an honour to be working with our church family across our four congregations this year, although my main area of ministry will be with the youth of St Bart’s, as well as being involved in some of our students’ ministry. Finally, I have somehow also been deemed proficient enough to be in charge of the St Bart’s Bath social media pages…  (perhaps I am meant to ask for a like and a follow here?!). Most importantly though, the aim of all these ministries is to better equip us as individuals to serve our church family, and to reach out to those in our community who do not yet know of the saving grace of Jesus Christ. 

I do not yet know what the year ahead will hold, both in terms of the uncertainty and spontaneity generally of church work, but particularly due to the unknown consequences of the coronavirus pandemic. I do know though that whatever the year holds, I must be fully reliant on God himself to support and guide me, and that prayer if a huge part of this. As such, I intend to write regular updates for those of you who would be willing to join me in prayer.

Prayer points:

  • That every aspect of my work this year will glorify God, even the more subtle or ‘mundane’ aspects.
  • For humility in serving others and being able to recognise my own limitations.
  • That God would be revealing to our staff team how to reach out to those, both in our church family and our community, who are not yet able to meet in person and show them more of Christ.

As ever, thank you greatly for your support and encouragement.
May God bless you,

Don’t give up now

IMG_0672With over 19,000 POCs (people of concern) living in Moria camp on Lesvos, the crisis is further from resolution than ever before. The camp was designed to house just 3,000 refugees, but each day more people arrive on the island and can go nowhere else.

2019 saw around 75,000 refugees arrive in Greece with roughly 46,000 of those arriving on the Aegean islands. Lesvos received 27,148 of these arrivals – nearly double the number received in 2018.

The Greek government promised to move 20,000 refugees from the Aegean islands (Lesvos, Samos & Chios) before 2020, but 01/01/2020 arrived and there is still no evidence of any movements.

EuroRelief, the organisation co-ordinating the majority of day-to-day life in Moria (the largest camp on Lesvos), released this video in October. It gives a small taste of the horrific journeys the POCs endure to reach Lesvos and their experiences within the camp once they arrive. I would implore you to watch it (or save it for later if you are short on time).

The number of children in Moria has surpassed 6,500 – too many of these are unaccompanied minors who are some of the most vulnerable people in this crisis. Currently these children have the right to family reunification within the UK.
HOWEVER, as part of the Brexit Bill, the government is trying to scrap this legislation. PLEASE, if you live in the UK, follow this link and send an e-mail/letter to your MP to tell them that you support the reunification of children with their families – and then share this with your friends, family and colleagues so they can do the same. It will honestly take 2 minutes as the letter is pre-written and you can just press send!
We have until Wednesday 22nd January, when the bill will be voted on in the commons.

THANK YOU THANK YOU if you do send the letter!

Why now?

These POCs are ALWAYS important and should NEVER be forgotten. It’s been great to see a little more coverage in the news in recent months, however I wonder if this is just a sign of how awful the situation truly is.

In line with the increasing amount of support required in this crisis, I have decided to return to Lesvos this summer.  I received confirmation from EuroRelief yesterday that  I will be working for them again for the month of August. I am humbled to be offered this opportunity to serve the amazing people of Moria and see the incredible work that God is doing in this, the most desperate of situations.

Thanks for reading this brief update, and PLEASE continue to pray for those involved in this, watch EuroRelief’s video and email your MP,

Lots of love,

P.s. if you’d be interested in coming to Greece with me, do drop me a message – seriously!

[data source:


migrant-camp-fire-lesbos-826883_FotorTwo gunshots. A face full of tear gas. The prayers start. Escape.

This week we witnessed camp burn, we saw a riot escalate into a furnace, and we feared for the lives of those we love. This week has been hard.

On Monday afternoon, while we were on shift, a riot broke out in camp. Two shots ringing out across camp told us that this was more serious than the normal, daily fights. Minutes later, tear gas flooded into the lower levels where I had been working. Panic was imminent and even getting out of the area was a struggle. 10 minutes later, as our whole team were gathered outside camp, we watched as a column of smoke rose from the centre of camp. “Info: halas” reported one of our coordinators, using the frequently heard Arabic term to tell us that the EuroRelief hub was ‘finished’.

Thankfully no one was seriously harmed, but chaos reigned in camp for hours after the riot started. As details emerge, resolution is still far away and repetition is likely. The riots started as a protest against the system, in particular against the detainment and deportation of a Haitian man whose appeal had been rejected after only 2 days, without proper consideration. However, many believe that action such as this was inevitable and that this was just the tipping point.


Felt by all, frustration is the most dominant emotion in camp.

Frustration at the system: that so many POCs’ asylum applications are being rejected, that Europe has closed its borders, that friends and family are being deported back to the hellish situations they have fled from. Frustration that the next step on their journey is a promise of even more waiting in even worse conditions. Frustration that despite the injustices they have already experienced, they are still treated unfairly. Frustration that we can’t give them an isobox to themselves, despite the chronic illness their elderly parents are suffering or the five young children they nurse. Frustration that they’ve been waiting for 5 hours in the heat for us to house them after they were kicked out of new arrivals when another boat of 100 arrived. Frustration that they are treated like animals, shepherded here and there, told to wait in line for someone else to determine their fate.

Frustration that we, who help, have lost our ability to help: the EuroRelief information hub, tailor, printing services, clothing hut and storeroom were all destroyed. We have lost the vast majority of our resources. It is frustrating that the actions of a few have detrimentally impacted many. As those working in concordance with UNHCR, we often receive the backlash from governmental decisions. There is an increasing divide of ‘us’ and ‘them’, where we are grouped with the military, police and other officials. We each came to serve those living in camp, yet have somehow have become the enemies of some of them. Although the riots weren’t targeted at us, it is probable that the burning of our base was intentional.

Frustration at a lack of resolution: we have been warned that this will probably happen again. Any valuables we have left should be left at home, cautions should be taken, but fires cannot really be prevented. I am left questioning if anything has changed since last year when weeks after I left, a blaze ravaged camp, to this week when fire once again caused destruction. What solution is there in a situation that seems utterly hopeless? When doors to Europe are closed, and atrocities at home were the instigators of the journey, where do these people turn? We have POCs returning from Athens because conditions there are even worse than they are here. Thousands are stuck in Greece with no hope of ever moving on. No hope of life getting any better.

This week has taught me many things, but none more clearly than that there is only one solution to this problem: Jesus Christ, who gave even more than these people so that we can have hope.

When words fail to express my cry to God, I always find that David has written adequately in the Psalms. Psalm 55 is a pretty accurate expression of this week for me, especially the days immediately after the fire:

Psalm 55

16 But I will call on God,
    and the Lord will rescue me.
17 Morning, noon, and night
    I cry out in my distress,
    and the Lord hears my voice.
18 He ransoms me and keeps me safe
    from the battle waged against me,
    though many still oppose me.
19 God, who has ruled forever,
    will hear me and humble them.

New Arrivals

They come by the boatload. The announcement made in pre-shift briefing: “a boat came in this morning”. I still can’t figure out if this is good news or not. Each boat means that camp becomes more crowded, that resources are stretched further and that more people face the exasperating wait for papers to Athens (or the agonising news of deportation); but it also means that more people have successfully fled horrific situations, that more people have reached the next stage in their plight for a new home, and that these people are now guaranteed food, clothing and shelter while they’re in our care.

The only exception is when that first sentence is followed by “not everyone made it”. Never is this good news.

The new arrivals tent is fast becoming my favourite area of camp. Exhausted, refugees arrive bedraggled and confused. Being one of their first points of contact is an honour. They just long to sleep, knowing little of the months ahead when they’ll have all the time in the world to rest.

Their gratitude at being provided with food, clothing and bedding is refreshing.
Kaely and I spent Sunday fitting clothes to the children in new arrivals. Seeing both parents’ and children’s faces light up as they received small bags of fresh clothing meant the struggle of communicating names, ages and shoe sizes was completely worth it. This work reminds me how incredible, brave and resilient these people are. These are the survivors, weary from their battle, grateful for the respite.

Yesterday I heard a man ask the police “which island are we on?” A lot of these people hand over money for the boat ride without even knowing where they’re headed, trusting a promise to get them in to Europe. Their relief to see people bearing the UNHCR insignia is evident. Some families asked Kaely and I for photos to send to relatives to show that they truly had made it to the camp. Others greeted old friends and family members through the fences with clasped hands, gushing words and falling tears. For most new arrivals, relief is the overarching emotion. For many of the refugees this day is one they’ve dreamt of for a long time.

They are yet to be worn down further by the struggles of camp life.

مشكلة كبيرة (mushkilat kabira) is the most commonly heard phrase in camp. It means ‘big problem’ in Arabic and is the preface to anything and everything. EuroRelief, food, blankets, clothing or just camp in general are all ‘big problems’. After the POCs become accustomed to being provided for, the gratitude mostly wears off. It’s all become ‘normality’ for them. Instead they are upset when they are refused extra or routine is disrupted.

Many POCs have been in camp for countless months. Some talk of returning home because they have given up hope of ever making it to mainland Europe. They too are tired. They are tired of waiting, tired of the repetitive daily pattern, tired of fighting; for food, housing, citizenship. They are tired of life and the injustices that have been thrown their way.

The refugee life is not for the faint-hearted.

One week in and one year on.

A refugee camp is a place you can’t even begin to imagine until you’ve been to one. The images the media portray don’t tell of the sweat, the dirt or the shouting matches. They ignore the love the POCs (persons of concern, the current politically correct term for refugees or migrants) have, the incredible hospitality they show or the fact that most of them would give their lives to protect us as volunteers. Photos, videos or words cannot do it justice, so I don’t pretend to be doing so.

Seeing the camp gates again, a part of me felt like I’d come home. At that moment I realised then that it is indeed possible to leave a part of your heart somewhere. Taking the familiar route up to the EuroRelief hub, I immediately noticed that huge changes had taken place in camp in the year since I last entered in.

  1. Housing

Having spent weeks last year trying to convince POCs to take even more people into their overcrowded RHUs (think a plastic shed), I am overjoyed that these have been replaced by air-conditioned shipping containers, or ‘isoboxes’. Vast swathes of the camp were burned during a series of fires last year, necessitating a camp rebuild. There are no longer people living in RHUs or tents. Conditions have drastically improved (although obviously, this is still from a refugee camp perspective).

  1. Children

Huge demographic changes have also taken place since last year. Most of the women and children were moved to a different camp, or better housing during the extremely cold months when conditions in our camp were deathly. Whereas previously children brightened the camp with their laughter, the zones are quieter and manning the family area was a job to be assigned in pre-shift briefing. Over 80% of the camp is now single men, creating a distinctly different atmosphere than last year. Children bring joy to such a joyless situation. They forgive more easily, they don’t remember small discrepancies, they befriend others regardless of race, nationality or political leanings. In some ways, child refugees are the most vulnerable, yet equally the most resilient. Each boat that comes in brings more and more families into camp, this aspect of camp is reverting to the old way.

  1. EuroRelief

There are even fewer organisations left in the camp now. Even this week, Samaritan’s Purse seems to have upped and left. As a consequence, the role of EuroRelief has changed considerably: already managing the majority of camp, we are now charged with all clothing distribution, guarding more gates in camp, tailoring, printing and many additional smaller jobs. Thankfully, we too have benefitted from moving from an RHU to an isobox, and the database of POCs we created last summer has been expanded and improved considerably. We are now by far the dominant organisation in camp.

However, the central aspects of camp have not changed; the generosity of the PoCs, despite their desperate situations; the protectiveness of our translators (Pocs themselves) over volunteers; and the pure joy amongst the humanitarian shambles, to name but a few. Unfortunately, a lot of the people remain too. It was truly heart wrenching to be greeted by old friends as I walked into the central base for my first shift back; friends I had hoped and prayed would have been moved on to mainland Europe by now.

My first week has brought many incredible memories from last year flooding back. I often simply remember the hopelessness and desperation of the refugee crisis, but recalling the peals of laughter, the joy-filled friendships and the faithfulness of God in everything has been instrumental in reminding me why I knew I had to return as soon as my feet hit British soil again last August.

I have been starkly reminded of the severity of this crisis and the love that those most affected by it have to give to any who will accept it. Every day my heart burns for those we are serving here in Greece.


Greece: Seeking God in the silence

My time in Lesvos taught me a great many things; God still reveals new things to me daily. Entering through the camp gates of Moria felt like opening my eyes on a different world, not because of the rows of RHUs (refugee housing units), the multitude of different cultures, or the utter chaos, but because I was forced to see God in a way that I never had before. There was no evangelism, no powerful talks, no spirit-soaked worship sessions, and we were even banned from bringing Bibles into the camp.

Seeing God in a community where we couldn’t even offer to pray for the girls we were becoming friends with was hard. In the 6 months before going to Greece I had experienced the visible power of God more than ever before: I’d been to gatherings of thousands of Christians, done simple Gospel street evangelism in downtown LA, and sung worship songs at the top of my lungs in the Himalayas, but none of this had prepared me for God’s movement in Moria.

It is so much harder to see God in the chaos.

While I was in the camp I searched hard for God, praying each day that He would reveal Himself more to me each time I entered into Moria. Back in Mytilene, it was easier to see the Almighty One at work, I could recognise the familiar signs I had learned over the past months: the Spirit-filled meetings in the little church below the apartment, meeting local fishermen and talking to them about Jesus, and seeing God in the stunning beauty of the island. I could walk the streets of the city at 1am and feel God close at hand, yet sitting playing with a little child in Moria, I questioned where God was in all of it. During the day, I was a tourist on one of the most idyllic islands in the Mediterranean, by night I was testing my year 9 French bartering with Congans about whether I could house even more people in their overcrowded shelter. By day I was the girl who had seen the immense power of God healing, restoring, and much, much more across many nations in the past 5 months, by night I questioned where this ‘God of justice’ truly was. “God please, they need you,” were the pleas on my lips as I fell asleep after a long night’s shift.

“Please listen, God, and answer my prayer! I feel hopeless, and I cry out to you from a faraway land. Lead me to the mighty rock high above me. You are a strong tower, where I am safe from my enemies. Let me live with you forever and find protection under your wings, my God.”
-Psalm 61: 1-4

Seeing God in Moria was tough.

I would get through each day by being useful. After a few weeks at Moria, at the age of 19, I was even left in charge of housing new arrivals at the largest refugee camp on Lesvos, a daunting, but thrilling adventure. I felt needed. I didn’t have the time or mind-space to think of life outside Moria.

But you see, that’s just the thing: my life goes on, I AM outside Moria. Moria for me was an experience, a place of learning, a time of heartbreak. For the refugees, it is their home, their prison, their ‘punishment’. Arriving home after leaving the island, I was hit by this reality. I had suddenly awoken to the horrifying scenes I had witnessed, the tragic stories I had heard, and the desperation of the crisis that is now so deeply woven into my heart.

Being a Christian isn’t about having all the answer, being a Christian isn’t about having it all together. Telling people you’re a Christian isn’t announcing that you’re perfect, it’s announcing you’re a sinner and you know it, but that you know the one thing that can overcome your brokenness- the grace and love of God. I don’t pretend to know all the answers to all the questions I have, but I know one thing:


Just a week after returning from Lesvos, I set off for a week at a youth camp to serve on the kitchen team. It was a week of healing and revelation for me; being given the space to process, and the incredible Christian community and fellowship, which has done so much for my faith over the years. I started the week asking the question “why did God even take me to Greece?”, and ended it with a heart of peace, and some answers to this question.

God has taught me to see beyond race, nationality and religion to the humanity behind the façade. He taught me to be humble and vulnerable in my brokenness, sharing with others my struggles, and in turn receiving prayer and encouragement leading to healing and restoration. God was my strength and my comfort on the days when I could hardly face leaving the camp, or returning to it. He taught me patience when it took five hours to house just one new arrival, and He taught me to find joy amongst the carnage. Putting washing up bowls on my back to be a turtle was a thousand times worth it as the shrieks of kids’ laughter rang out across the compound; the sweat dripping down my back was more than welcome when it meant I was playing volleyball with the ‘rebellious men’ from level 1. Personal humiliation was a small sacrifice for bringing a smile to someone’s face, but the best days were when these smiles were brought about by sharing testimonies of God’s goodness.

God was present every second I was in Moria. God is still present every second in Moria.

Looking back on my month away and being able to recognise God in every situation has been vital to being able to see God in the bigger picture. I am far from having all the answers, but of one thing I am certain: God is in control, He has this.

God spoke to me during sung worship one night at camp. The lyrics of the song “Sovereign Over Us” spoke a promise from Him:

There is strength within the sorrow
There is beauty in our tears
And You meet us in our mourning
With a love that casts out fear
You are working in our waiting
You’re sanctifying us
When beyond our understanding
You’re teaching us to trust

Your plans are still to prosper
You have not forgotten us
You’re with us in the fire and the flood
You’re faithful forever
Perfect in love
You are sovereign over us

You are wisdom unimagined
Who could understand Your ways
Reigning high above the Heavens
Reaching down in endless grace
You’re the lifter of the lowly
Compassionate and kind
You surround and You uphold me
And Your promises are my delight

Your plans are still to prosper
You have not forgotten us
You’re with us in the fire and the flood
You’re faithful forever
Perfect in love
You are sovereign over us

Even what the enemy means for evil
You turn it for our good
You turn it for our good and for Your glory
Even in the valley, You are faithful
You’re working for our good
You’re working for our good and for Your glory

Your plans are still to prosper
You have not forgotten us
You’re with us in the fire and the flood
You’re faithful forever
Perfect in love
You are sovereign over us

You’re faithful forever
Perfect in love
You are sovereign over us

He is Sovereign over this crisis, He has not forgotten them and His plans are still to prosper.

How great is our God?