Corona 2020 #3: Rhythms of Quarantine

April 3, 2020April 7, 2020 ~ Georgia Coats ~ Leave a comment

Sunday, March 29: In harmony with my heart

Virtual church at 11-ish. Pilates and worship. Coffee with my Sweet. I’m grateful for his enthusiasm in making my perfect cup. I have been working on the right lyrics that are in harmony with my heart. Simon and Garfunkel always have space in my struggles. But they must be interspersed with strength of the human spirit, and the hope of worship. My heart is tender towards key words: shelter, isolation, hidden, breath…

Walking makes me feel better, and alone. The city is quiet and desolate with pockets of families huddled together.

We are defined by our safe people and everyone else. Who are the people bio-connected to each other? What about those who live alone? Who are their bio-connected “we”?

Following news out of Detroit. Things are exponentially worse. The Henry Ford hospital is where my hematologist of 15 years lives. My babies were born there. It is a state of emergency.

Michigan seems like a dream to me now… I’ve come to look for America… Michigan feels like a dream to me, too, Simon & Garfunkel.

The Value of Closure

I am struggling with closure. Some things have ended abruptly and I find they wreck me more emotionally than they would at another time. My resilience is thin. With tears, it’s best to sleep on it. If my resilience is thin, others’ is too. God, help me to see as you see.

Strong for my people. Rest. Prayer. I am ready to take a small courageous step towards healthy closure in uncertainty. Courage is fear prayed up. Yup.

Monday, March 30: It’s okay not to be okay

Ella is in tears. She feels socially limited in the middle of her brother and sister. She has done everything we have thought to do at home by lunchtime. Aimlessness brings sadness.

She needs her middle school peeps. I tell her it’s okay to cry. It’s okay not to be okay.

Magic in the little things—a fixed bike, fresh berries and a can of whipped cream. Zoe and Ella set off on a park adventure of their own. Then we make lentil soup. I see her perk up just a little.

It’s okay not to be okay.

Jamin’s new tetherball arrives from Amazon. Steve and Jamin head to his school to hook it up to the pole there. Jamin is that 5^th grader—the one who has prayed for school to end since it started. He is in a happy place.

My walks get longer and more emotional as I listen through my varied lyrics. I am weak. I am strong. It feels like winter and loneliness. I rise up. I have breath. I shelter in with people I love dearly.

It helps to have purpose and set baby goals…

I have a little space in my emotional reserves to follow up my concern for my refugee neighbor friends. I check in and brought Legos for the littles (after running them through the dishwasher). I inadvertently photobombed their cute family pic—at a distance.

Seeing their faces made my heart happy. 😊

I walk in the rain and the sunshine. I am oscillating. Laughing. Crying. Purposefulness. Aimlessness. Weight of the world. Isolation. Safety. And Fear.

Everyone check in with someone, ok?

Celebrating my small mom victories. My kids seem more settled. Cake pops made. Tetherball played. Lentil soup is perfectly seasoned comfort food—reminiscent of homemade dhal from a past season of life and friendship.

Brother, let me be your shelter

Never leave you all alone

I can be the one you call when you’re low. NeedtoBreathe

I hug my people. I have people to touch and kiss. We pray together anticipating the new day. The new school schedule. A plan. A purpose. We pray that summer camp won’t be canceled.

Tuesday, March 31: Collecting scattered thoughts

Everyone sets an alarm. Online school is starting, and we have family implementation plans in place. Ella is chattery about her teachers and friends. Her eyes light up. Jamin is moaning but following the plan. Zoe persists with vigor in all her endeavors. Steve’s virtual work continues per usual. I write 3 new virtual meetings set on my empty calendar.

Time to write. To think. To be alone with my thoughts in my bustling home. Interruptions are frequent. Flexibility of this new norm.

Clarity of thought. Processing negative emotions in healthy ways. Moving forward.

Deep breath. I will turn on the news.

Physical goals: Engage my core muscles more often—to that end, wear less leggings and more regular pants. Walk a little further. Add a few extra sit ups, crunches, or pushups each time I do some. Baby steps in physical exercise make me feel like I can control something. And move forward in something.

Wednesday, April 1: Tears are my superpower

Aimlessness is real.

Scheduling is helpful.

Technology is frustrating.

Closure…find closure where you can on even the little things, since so many things ended or were put on pause so abruptly.

Zoe and I enjoy the show: Zoey’s Extraordinary Playlist. Episode 8—Zoey’s Extraordinary Glitch—was so embarrassingly awkward. The main character can’t stop herself from bursting out in song to express her deep, undealt with emotions.

I courageously show up for my meeting to find closure, and I cry through the second half of it. I guess I’m still not ok and it’s going to come out somewhere—like Zoey does with song and dance in the show, I do with tears. Closure on this one thing feels good and right and satisfying. But I’m still crying. Awkward, but unapologetic. Express gratitude. Everyone’s resilience is thin. It’s okay not to be okay.

Rollerblading with my girls is a sweet time on a beautiful day. Normal, not normal. Strange, not strange. No one is out. Everyone is distant on a college campus in spring. I feel simultaneously content and overwhelmed. We go about our days distancing, while others can’t breathe. And others die. How does closure come for loved ones who experience loss?

At the end of the day I’m both relieved and bummed that there were no innovative April Fool’s jokes going on at our house. Not in a place to create and laugh and bounce back just yet.

Thursday, April 2: Wearing mascara doesn’t prevent tears

Time to face my fledgling teaching plan. A meeting with my boss. I teach adults. Moms like me who show up to my English language class after their kids are settled in school. I can just barely settle my kids to move forward with a plan of any kind. I barely have a moment to catch up with my own thoughts and emotions… innovation is measly and uninterrupted minutes to wade through emails and move towards problem-solving are things from that other life realm.

Deep breath. Grateful for the closure I found yesterday. Like the strategy for debt snowball—knocking out smaller debts first.

Moving forward.

It’s okay not to be okay. But it’s not okay to cry in this team meeting with my boss. Maybe mascara will help prevent tears.

I choose Pilates and prayer over fine-tooth-comb reading all the pertinent email strings before my meeting.

Deep breath, again. In for 3, out for 4.

🎶 And I’ll rise up…

I’ll rise up
In spite of the ache
I’ll rise up
And I’ll do it a thousand times again
For you… 🎶

Innovation, momentum, problem-solving and resilience—in short supply. Like ventilators for patients and masks for healthcare workers.

Mascara does not help prevent displaced tears in zoom meetings. But actively turning off video or audio as needed provides a sense of control over the little things.

And having a boss who hears you… doesn’t prevent tears either.

It’s cold today. There is no mustering of motivation to run the track. No energy to even think about trying to psych myself up for more than a cold, grey walk.

Listening to Simon and Garfunkel and remembering that time when I was on an island. And I missed my boat. And I cried about it… 😭💕🏝

🎶 I am shielded in my armor,
Hiding in my room,
safe within my womb
I touch no one and no one touches me

I am a rock
I am an island
And a rock feels no pain
And an island never cries 🎶

Islands are surrounded by salt water… you would never know if they were crying.

Overwhelmed and grateful. I am definitely not an island.

Corona 2020 #1: Cancellations & Celebrations

April 3, 2020April 3, 2020 ~ Georgia Coats ~ 2 Comments

Friday, March 13: Seismic shifts

What a strange and beautiful day. I left early on a birthday hike to celebrate my friend’s 40^thbirthday. We had the Twin Sisters trail to ourselves as we hiked through mounds of freshly fallen snow. I shared my Middle Eastern date cookies with her as a birthday treat. I had just brought them back from Michigan three days earlier. As we hiked, we processed the strange potential things that might happen, and we pondered the impact of recent social encounters and future plans.

Sharing cookies… that feels thoughtful and delightful and celebratory.

It was my kids’ last day of school before spring break. I knew I would arrive home post-hike to shifting sands.

And then the onslaught of virtual communication rushed in—every entity I am involved with is sending out emails of closure and postponement.

My kids dance around the living room celebrating the news of a second week of spring break, a.k.a., enrichment week, as the world is shutting down.

Saturday, March 14: Queen of flexibility

In normal life, I work 4 very fulfilling, part-time jobs—mainly, nonprofits, self-employment, and contract work. I am queen of finding rhythm with flexibility and faith through many changing seasons of my various jobs. And half my work is already virtual.

I got this.

Bring on change.

Bring on the unknown.

Bring on kids at home and the anticipation of spring.

Let’s keep dancing around the living room and watch as many movies as we can think of, and eat large bowls of white cheddar popcorn.

Sunday, March 15: Clean hands and pure hearts

This is ominously exciting. The CDC cancelled church gatherings of 150 or more, but our small community group is getting together to watch it virtually and enjoy Sunday brunch together. In the celebration of slowing down the pace of life and being together, there is a growing sense of urgency for quarantining. Some have opted out of our physical gathering.

Keep your hands clean and move to toe touches and elbow taps.

🎶 Give us clean hands, give us pure hearts
Let us not lift our souls to another

O God let us be a generation that seeks
That seeks your face O God of Jacob

O God let us be a generation that seeks
That seeks your face O God of Jacob 🎶

I timed it… this chorus is a solid 30 seconds of prayer AND proper hand washing.

I love finding hope, meaningful connection, and laughter in challenging situations.

Monday, March 16: Plans proceed but toilet paper is scarce

We have summer camp coming up in July. Kids need their wellness checkups. It’s going to be a highly productive spring break. I got two out of three kids went in the health clinic for physicals and vaccinations. People wore masks and signs were posted about being cautious.

Toilet paper is a weird crisis. We forgot to pick up our usual stash at Sam’s Club last month. Oops! I feel more and more compelled to join the bandwagon of fear and scarcity. Don’t panic… we’ll find some.

In the restroom at the local medical center for my kid’s wellness checkup…

Experiencing a new kind of temptation 😳🧻🧻

Tuesday, March 17: A cold coming on

Ella’s wellness checkup is cancelled. That seems to be the new rhythm. Most things left on the calendar are also being cleared. I feel a cold coming on and my mind trails to all the places I’ve been and the people I’ve touched. I start to rethink some of our spring break interactions… and sharing date cookies.

Wednesday, March 18: Rhythm in chaos

When the winds of change disrupt normal life, I find it helpful to hold on to a familiar chorus—a loose framework of routine and rhythm. I enjoy a morning cup of coffee with my Sweet. I run the empty track at the middle school. I do regular bouts of Pilates and prayers.

My throat is sore and I dig out the thermometer. No fever. All three times.

My mom calls. She’s worried about our lack of toilet paper. My dad unpacks meat from his freezer and finds our favorite kind of Greek cheese at the restaurant depot. We arrange a socially distant walk at a park halfway between our cities. No hugs. No kisses. Just a transfer of food items and a lovely stroll. The sun is in full shine, but road signs are flashing to brace for an impending winter storm.

Still no fever. I would feel horrible if I were the one to compromise my parents’ health in their late 70s.

Thursday and Friday are cold and dark and snowy. No place to go. Every cough makes me a little nervous. Still no fever. Ella coughs and sniffles. No fever.

Saturday, March 21: Keep baking, keep running, keep dancing

The week went by so quickly. It wasn’t much of a spring break—except for excessive movie watching and creative baking and spontaneous dance parties. Keeping our rhythm–Saturday pancakes. The dog park is perfect for social distancing. Another run on the middle school track while the gym is closed and the weather is decent.

Politics Scare Me: Perspective from an Intimidated Lover of Peace, Mom, & English Language Teacher

November 30, 2018November 30, 2018 ~ Georgia Coats ~ 3 Comments

I love challenging questions within small, safe conversations. But politics scare me. I’m horrible at citing policies, remembering dates, or interpreting statistics as fast as needed in a heated political discussion. The last thing I want to do is make a strong political stance. But as a language and culture teacher, a language and culture learner, a mother of three, a cross-cultural neighbor, and a daughter of immigrants, people have been asking my perspective on our current political atmosphere around immigration and the refugee crisis.

These 4 political observations come from being a lover of peace and equality in my home and in diverse communities. With an odd number of personalities in our family, peace talks are a daily drill at our house.

War, and the displacement it causes, is a worldwide problem, not just a U.S. problem. There are many countries, like Greece and Jordan, maxing out their infrastructures to accommodate the refugees who are pouring in with no other place to go. Comparatively, it seems that the U.S. has more room, more infrastructure, and more capacity to share the worldwide burden than we are currently.

2. Lately we have been cultivating a national bad attitude of “me first”. In fear we tend to operate out of scarcity rather than generosity. As a mom, I work on these issues with my kids EVERY. SINGLE. DAY. I want my children to learn to get along with others, be kind, and share. If our country were my kid, I would want to teach her baby steps towards kindness, not away from it. And maybe give her a timeout or two to think about her attitude and choices.

3. As a world leader, our country is positioned to be influential. Rarely do leaders have a neutral, zero impact. The U.S. has the power to do good in the world and influence others to follow our lead. We are also responsible for our negative attitudes and actions. They do not go without impact. An insane number of children are dying in Yemen because of a civil war where both sides are receiving help from opposing world powers. Our country has been contributing to this crisis financially. After years of innocent people dying, we are just now making better choices about how to help the desperate rather than contribute to their dire circumstances.

4. The best problem-solving of difficult issues comes when people work together. The polar opposite political extremes in our country are intense right now. Extremes point fingers at them–the other extreme. But what about the radical, intentional middle places, where we don’t point blame, but rather focus on problem solving, compromise, and caring for others?

Recently, my oldest daughter was rewarded by her grandparents for her excellent academic achievement. My other two kids were also recognized for their good grades, but her excellence was dually noted in the form of an extra $20 bill, handed to my middle daughter to pass along to her sister. This could have incited an all-out war at our house. What to do? 1) pray for discernment in navigating towards a peaceful resolution 2) recognize the complexities and potential hurt each might feel 3) guide each one to consider the other’s perspective 4) give them space and responsibility in arriving at creative solutions together. Ultimately, my oldest daughter decided to treat the family to FroYo. Not all family squabbles arrive at peaceful compromises, but we are always learning and striving towards a “we” solution.

I realize the world is a messy and complex place, and the last thing I want to do is minimize the work of those who labor towards peace by oversimplifying things. I would rather run away from politics, especially when things get tense and mean. I’m not in it to win it. But I am in it to understand someone else’s point of view. Sometimes people just need to be heard and want to be understood. Sometimes hurt people hurt people. Sometimes they are scared too. I’ve learned that whatever the issue is, things become much less political as they become more personal–that point where issues have names, faces, stories, and favorite foods.

An Unintended “We”

April 20, 2017May 3, 2017 ~ Georgia Coats ~ 5 Comments

We the People of the United States, in order to form a more perfect Union, establish Justice, insure domestic Tranquility… promote the general Welfare, and secure the Blessings of Liberty to ourselves and our Posterity…

Preamble to the Constitution of the United States

I can usually spot negative and hate speech coming from one group against another by the signature word they. “They don’t belong here.” “They do things differently.” “Why do they ________ like that?”

For Spring Break my Greek Immigrant parents came from sunny Colorado to visit my home in soggy Michigan. They did all the fun spoiling that any Yiayia and Papou would do with their grandkids. Amidst all the excitement, I invited my parents to come with me to spend some time with Zuzu, my Kurdish-Syrian New American friend. I had met her last October, at a free community event sponsored by Sabeel Media at the local library, discussing the responsibility of the media to share the experiences and needs of refugees. That event inspired me to scooch over, and make a little room in my life for the refugee crisis that faces us all as human beings. I am regularly challenged by the command of Jesus the Messiah to love God with all my heart, soul, mind and strength; and to love my neighbors as myself. I have been visiting with Zuzu weekly for the last six months and she has taught me so much about friendship and hardship and Arabic and Kurdish. In turn, I have taught her about American systems, and phone systems, and English words. She calls me her teacher, but I call her my friend. Through it all we have become tied to each other.

There is so much political rhetoric for and against the topic of refugees, but to actually sit and sip tea with a neighbor who happens to be one seemed like a novel idea.

My parents were eager to meet Zuzu and her family. There is so much political rhetoric for and against the topic of refugees, but to actually sit and sip tea with a neighbor who happens to fit that category seemed like an interesting and novel idea. Before our visit, I prepped my parents on who to shake hands with or not shake hands with, where to put shoes, and how to sit on low couches—even with my dad’s recently replaced knees. fullsizeoutput_cc5

Zuzu warmly opened her modest upper flat to my parents and my three kids on a rainy March afternoon. We sipped little cups of rich black tea with as much sugar as my kids wanted. We touched on topics of politics, dictators, and dialects as we observed Kurdish television rattling on in the background. We shared a lot in common. Our little visit brought back some nostalgic memories for my mom, of the way visits used to be for her as a child growing up in a Greek immigrant community, where people shared simple but special moments together in each other’s homes. And the TV rattling in the background was normal for my dad—only his gets all the best Greek news stations.

Version 3 There was a pause in our conversation, which gave Zuzu a moment to form a question in English. She asked my father if he left Greece because he was a refugee. He shook his head “No,” but then proceeded to explain in short sentences that his Greek village was ravaged in World War II, and that his parents were killed. Years later, he immigrated to the U.S. in search of a better life. The look on Zuzu’s face was full of compassion and understanding as she responded to the look of great loss on my dad’s face. Different generations. Different countries. Different wars. Different dictators. But for a moment, Zuzu and my dad were ushered into the same horrible club of loss, tragedy and destruction by war. It’s a large club that no one wants to join, but many are forced into its membership. As I sat and observed this unintended “we” moment between my father and Zuzu, I said a silent prayer for her young children. I am a product of my dad’s hope for a better life in a new land. Maybe our family gives Zuzu perspective on what things might look like for her young children as they grow up to call this new land their home. At least for now. I know deep down, Zuzu really hopes to take her children back to her home country of Syria in better times, Inshallah, God-willing.

As we said our good-byes, I thanked God for this incredible moment to share with my family and my friend. We were blessed. We enjoyed each other’s company. Our human hearts beat the same, and by unintended circumstances, we had more in common than we imagined. We, the people, who long for justice and tranquility in a more perfect Union.

We had more in common than we imagined. We, the people, who long for justice and tranquility in a more perfect Union.

Published in the Yemeni American News, May, 2017

The Privilege of Choice

March 3, 2017March 8, 2017 ~ Georgia Coats ~ 6 Comments

Funnel your passion and outrage into specific, constructive actions that will change things for the better. Don’t just get mad; change the world. T. Anderson, Speak Up for the Poor

A History of Choices

Narrowly escaping abortion. Nearly executed by Nazis. Orphaned at the age of two. Immigrating to a new land filled with new hopes and new possibilities. During this current strange and tense political climate—Women’s Marches, Muslim bans, extreme vetting, trolling, and fear mongering—I have been reflecting on the journey that has led my dad to celebrate his 75^th birthday just last month. In a heated climate of pro-life and pro-choice, I’m thankful for life. I also realize that I am a product of other people’s choices. I am a product of my grandparents’ decision not to abort my father, by night, in secret, outside a small village in Greece in the 1940s. I had heard the story countless times of my grandmother’s decision not to eliminate the unexpected pregnancy that was my father, long before I ever comprehended what abortion meant. Then, as a toddler, my dad barely escaped Nazi execution. His parents didn’t though. He was orphaned at that time, and were it not for the compassion of one Nazi soldier who didn’t have the heart to open fire on 13 kids hiding in a basement, my dad wouldn’t have survived. I am a result of that soldier’s compassion. me-and-dad
As a young immigrant to the U.S. from the Old Country of Greece, my dad, with my mom, had that hard working, unconquerable, Greek, immigrant spirit. My dad worked nights and weekends, and he took on extra jobs to pursue the dream that education in this country would lead to more opportunities for his kids than he or my mom had. I am the product of their choice to believe in the American dream.

Living intentionally cross-culturally in a diverse community for 16 years, I have learned that it is best to approach new and complex situations as a learner. Since the Women’s Marches, I have been carefully reading posts and counter posts in Ping-Pong style about women who marched, women who didn’t, women who wished they did, women who were angry, women who didn’t want to get involved… My heart swelled with the pride for some of those who marched. I also understood why some didn’t. From those who chronicled their marches, I learned to value the privileges of choice we have today, because others fought for them in a previous era.

When he would ask 12-year-old girls, “What’s your dream?” they had no answer. No one had ever taught them to imagine an alternative to forced child-marriage.

The Privilege of Dreaming

My kids are privileged with choice. Since they could to talk, my kids have dreamt about what they want to be when they grow up. It was never an option for them not to dream about their futures. They can even change their minds—archaeologist one week, art teacher the next.

“What’s your dream?” is the question Troy Anderson, President of Speak Up for the Poor, asks young girls from poor villages in Bangladesh whose options are marriage at a young age, or being sold into prostitution. When he would ask 12-year-old girls that question, they had no answer. No one had ever taught them to imagine an alternative to forced child-marriage. Anderson realized that for things to change, girls needed to dream. As the girls go through the Speak Up for the Poor program, they learn to make a plan to make their dreams of becoming a nurse, or a business owner, or a teacher come true. These girls dare to fight societal norms to realize a better life.

Changing the World

From the Women’s Marches I’ve learned that many have sacrificed to make things better for another generation and another group of people. When my kids grumble about doing their homework, I tell them stories about Malala—a Pakistani girl whose choice of going to school was taken from her. She fought back and inspired the world. Sometimes my kids roll their eyes at me—not another story! But, crazy mom that I am, I want my kids to appreciate their privileges, to work hard for what they believe in, and to have that dare-to-dream-in-the-face-of-adversity kind of spirit.

The choices we make can have global impact. This is my privilege, to help my kids understand that they, too, are the product of other people’s choices. Who could imagine the life-giving impact of one Nazi soldier’s choice back in 1944 in a small Greek village? My kids will hopefully never have to face gunshots on the school bus like Malala did, but they can choose to promote peace on the playground, and stand up against a friend being bullied. We are all connected to a greater historical context, and the choices we make can change the world.

(Published in the Yemeni American News, March, 2017)

Scars: In Memory of the Yiayia & Papou I Never Knew

February 22, 2017August 3, 2019 ~ Georgia Coats ~ 6 Comments

This article was published on June 10, 2012, the 68th anniversary of their death, June 10, 1944

Version 2 — My Papou and Yiayia: George and Pandora Loukas

There is nothing more precious than to sneak into the bedroom of my sleeping three-year old son and kiss him good night. The other night I prayed a blessing over him and sealed it with the sign of the cross on his forehead—as my parents had done for me. I felt God’s presence reminding me that Jamin Loukas was on this earth for a reason. The same goes for my father, Loukas G. Loukas.

On this day, June 10, 2012 as we remember the horrific massacre in the small village of Distomo, Greece, I am reminded of God’s great grace intervening in another generation. It was 68 years ago that my dad crouched trembling in a basement with 13 other children. Where were his parents to sneak in and check on him?

Three days after the historical D-Day in 1944, Nazi troops were traveling through the region near Distomo. In that surrounding area there were numerous resistance freedom fighters that had attacked the German troops and injured the head Nazi commander. This act sent the Nazi troops into a rage of retaliation that they unleashed on the unsuspecting peasants, farmers, priests, expectant mothers and young children of Distomo.

A Nazi soldier beat down the basement door. When he discovered a room full of children, he positioned his weapon to shoot, then aimed at the ceiling—all the while motioning the children to keep silent.

When my Yiayia Pandora and Papou George got news of something terrible happening in their village, they raced home from a day at the market as fast as their mule would take them. They wanted to gather their children close, and keep them safe. However, they never made it home. Later, their bodies were found lifeless on the side of the road.

Meanwhile, some very frightened children sat listening in a darkened basement to the sounds of death all around them—awaiting a dreadful fate of their own. A Nazi soldier beat down the basement door. When he discovered a room full of children, God Almighty intervened. The soldier positioned his weapon to shoot, then aimed at the ceiling—all the while motioning the children to keep silent. He sealed the door back up as best he could and left, shooting chickens and goats on the way out. He posted the official Nazi sign on the door that confirmed that the job there was done.

That was the day my dad was spared. At ages 16 and 14, his two older sisters became instant guardians of a two-year old. My dad was too young to comprehend God’s hand on his destiny. The story retold time and again has become his memory of the event. His first real memory came when he was five years old and his aunt took him to “meet” his parents. She pointed to their exhumed skeletons in the ground and said, “That is your mother and your father. Give them a kiss.”

People usually talk about scars as a sign of terrible things that happened in the past. I like to think about scars as a sign of healing—a reminder of God’s ability to restore, forgive, cleanse and redeem. When I look at my own scars I remember the bad that could have been and once was, but is no more. There is grace there instead. My dad was orphaned at the age of two. As a daughter with her daddy around, and as a mother with a young son, it brings me to tears to imagine not being there for my son. What were my Yiaya and Papou thinking that day as they tried to race home? What were their last prayers for their four children?

I’m thankful for a dad who checked in on me at night. And as I bless my son, I think of the scars and the grace. Because God intervened that day, my son can sleep peacefully in his bed. The same goes for his two sisters and four cousins. Because of God’s grace in that basement in Distomo 68 years ago, my dad’s alive today, and God’s purpose lives on for another generation.

The memories of my Yiayia Pandora and Papou George are eternal. They live on in my father’s heart and in the generations that live after them and hear their story. Today we remember our loss and reflect upon our scars and the grace given to us. May the memories of all 219 villagers lost in Distomo that day be remembered today.

For the LORD is good and His love endures forever; His faithfulness continues through all generations. Psalm 100:5

What are You Afraid Of?

February 4, 2017February 12, 2017 ~ Georgia Coats ~ 2 Comments

“You gain strength, courage and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face.” Eleanor Roosevelt

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA The best part about cold winter months in Michigan is snuggling under warm blankets, reading and telling stories with my kids. In these moments I often pause just to take it all in, and then thank God for the beauty of such simple yet priceless memories. Children truly are a treasure and a gift in this life. Recently, I took part in a short, two-question survey on FEAR. The first question was: What is something you are afraid of? A lot of things came to mind…debt, disease, destruction…but if I had to pick just one to write down, I would say that what I fear most regularly is something horrible happening to my children. As a mom, I do all I can to protect my children from harm. I teach them how to be safe, I stay near them in uncertain circumstances, and I try to keep them healthy.

These things were going through my mind as we read the historical account of the birth of Jesus the Messiah together. We got to the dark part of the story where a corrupt leader, King Herod, was feeling threatened by the news of a young Messiah being born. Out of fear, King Herod terrorized the Palestinian town and region he governed, and ordered the mass slaughter of all baby boys under two years old. As we read through the account, my eight-year-old son quickly named our young friend that fit that description. We all agreed that it was horrible to imagine our friends losing their 1½-year-old son to the terror of a corrupt leader.

For days I was troubled by this disturbing account of male infanticide that went on as a result of the Messiah’s birth. The families of those baby boys weren’t celebrating the birth of a promised and foretold anointed one sent from God. Instead, they grieved deep loss around the event that led to mass extermination of baby boys in and around Bethlehem. The story recounts that King Herod was “terrified” at the news of a prophetic Messiah-King entering the world and being revered by foreign Wise Men from the East. He saw this child as a threat to his powerful position of leadership. But the birth of Jesus also stirred a new hope far and wide. The coming of a promised Messiah reminded the world that God Most High is near to His people.

I tried to imagine myself living in a time and place of such need for hope—a world of terror and destruction enacted by powerful people. It didn’t take me long to realize that that is our world. Those are the bleak circumstances facing so many in war-torn Yemen today. According to a recent interview that the Yemeni American News had with the President of the National Association of Yemeni Americans (NAYA), AbdulHakem a. Alsadah, the United Nations estimate 3 million “displaced” Yemeni people. “There is no international awareness about this crisis,” Alsadah stated. Tears stream down my face when I see pictures of Yemeni children who are near death due to acute malnutrition. My heart breaks as I read stories about Yemeni parents who are forced to make hard decisions about losing their children, either to disease, destruction or starvation. According to a December 2016 article in www.theGuardian.com, one man tells of how he and his other children don’t eat so they can pay for his young daughter’s cancer medication. How does any parent face that kind of fearful reality and not lose hope?

The second question in my survey was:

What do you do when you are afraid?

Fear makes me want to hold my children tighter and never let them out of my sight. It makes me want to turn off the news because I can’t possibly process all the destruction going on in the world—in Yemen, in Syria… But what can I do about it? Fear and ignorance are the easy ways out, at least initially. If I raise my kids in fear, they are set up to react in fear. There’s a reason why the angels who came to announce the birth of the Messiah always started by saying, “Fear Not.” It’s because we do fear. Nevertheless, God Most High sends His chosen ones to a messy world because we need to hear from Him.

“Man can live about forty days without food, about three days without water, about eight minutes without air, but only for one second without hope.” H. Lindsey

It is good to be near God. His presence brings hope, and hope keeps us alive. Author Hal Lindsey said that, “Man can live about forty days without food, about three days without water, about eight minutes without air, but only for one second without hope.” In the worst of our despair, hope anchors our souls. It has to. Otherwise we wouldn’t survive the fear, terror and destruction that surrounds us. Education, compassion, prayer, hope. These are the things we must hold on to when we are afraid.

What is something you’re afraid of? What do you do when you are afraid?

So, as we really stop to look fear in the face, join me in trying a few of these things:

Give thanks for the good things God has done.
Tell a story to raise awareness of the crisis going on in Yemen.
Hug your children a little tighter.
Pray for those who suffer.
Give of your resources (time, money, or talents) to help another struggling human being.
Educate children about how to process fear.
Take a moment to grieve sad and disturbing news when you see it or hear it.
Love your neighbor.
Look for ways to spread love and kindness, especially when it is easier to spread fear or hate.
Hold on to hope as an anchor for your soul.

(Published in the Yemeni American News, February, 2017)

On My Mind

by Georgia

children