What if they were our girls?

This is the thought that rang in my head what when we met Yaseer and his family on the streets of Athens in 2013. I looked into the eyes of his children and imagined our two daughters sleeping in warm beds back home. This brother and sister in front of us, both under 6 years old, slept that night on a piece of cardboard under a tarp, in a park, with stomach aches from not eating for days. At the time, I was clueless about the magnitude of the refugee crisis around the world. I knew it was a problem, but it had largely been a faceless problem — until I found myself looking into these four faces. Our lives turned upside down in a matter of hours as we engaged in getting to know one another and our hearts turned inside out with empathy as we decided to enter into their story.

We listened as Yaseer retold how he and his family fled Syria after the civil war broke out. The violence, war, and atrocities described made my stomach nauseous. I kept imagining the moment of decision — scrambling to collect vital items into a bag, throwing in clothes to keep your family warm for the unknown journey ahead, running out the door, and darting into the darkness of night, knowing you'll likely never return. Over half of the country of 22 million people have been displaced in Syria. The story of Yaseer and his wife and children has played out millions of times, as refugees flee to locations like Europe and Turkey, looking for a brighter, safer future.

Yaseer and his family were the first Syrian refugees we met. In one day, the global refugee crisis became personal. They were no longer a number. We now knew their names and would never forget their faces. Refugees were no longer “projects” to solve, but people to love.