Tafadel! It is a word with many meanings depending on the situation. It means “welcome” when you arrive at someone’s home. Tafadel-tafadel encourages you to hurry up if you take too long to enter. And the one we always like to hear—_tafadel,_ when your car is cleared through a checkpoint.

Traffic can be scary in Mesopotamia. It feels like being part of a herd of sheep, with everyone pressing forward. The only rule is to look ahead and go and accelerate and brake as sharply as you want. The ones behind will stop if they need to. Push, squeeze, honk. One honk if you decide to proceed through an intersection before the traffic light turns green, and two honks if you are made to wait two seconds. Patience is nonexistent. Speed bumps offer close encounters, and it is wise to warn oncoming vehicles with a quick headlight flash. At checkpoints we are stopped by officers with heavy weapons and covered faces. We show our residency cards and have a brief conversation, half English and half Arabic. The officers chuckle as we pull away. Knowing the language at least a little makes all the difference.

Breathtaking beauty welcomes us as we take the winding road down the mountain. Snow covers the surrounding peaks. The fresh, cool air stings my face. We stop suddenly as an oncoming truck dominates the narrow road.

A shepherd comes running down the mountain. He makes it to the road just in time to stop his flock from crossing. Phew! Funny-looking sheep with narrow faces and big, fat tails mingle with a few goats. The babies are especially cute. We drive by a family taking a selfie by a patch of snow. The children throw snowballs.

James swerves to the right as a cow steps into the road. I thank God for daylight, protecting angels and good driving skills.
We pass a refugee camp. White containers line the wire fence, which is hung with colorful clothes, doubling as a washing line. Children with dirty hair play in the dusty street. They smile as they stare at us. We hear their laughter as we slowly drive by. Happiness amid disaster. Thank you Holy Spirit and Comforter for Your presence in the lives of all people.

We reach a familiar intersection, but something is wrong. The traffic is backed up more than a mile in both directions. What is happening? The possibilities are worrisome this close to a war zone. We turn off our engine and wait. A family uses the time to build a snowman on the hood of their car. Young people start a bonfire beside the road. Finally, a friendly man approaches us and reassures us that it is only a traffic jam. We wait for three hours. Various people take it upon themselves to direct the congested traffic. “Come!” “Wait!” I don’t know whether to laugh or cry as they try to direct us. God has His ways to teach us patience.

Tafadel! Welcome! A warm feeling melts my heart as a family welcomes us into their humble, chilly refugee shelter. The only heat source is the small gas stove that boils the tea. We enter the lounge, which is also the bedroom. The thin mattresses serve as couches by day and beds by night. Our hosts put their sleeping pillows behind our backs to make us comfortable. The smell of food fills the air as our host brings in one plate after another. They borrowed money to prepare this feast for us. In this culture, hospitality brings honor to the family.

At a visit with another family, the heartbroken father with an arm in a sling hands us his cell phone. It shows a video of his small daughter dancing to music with her little brother. The two children died in a fire the week before. He broke his arm trying to save them. Still husky from smoke inhalation, his voice breaks as he talks about his precious children, still hardly believing they are gone. We sit quietly with them, tears streaming down our faces. The few household appliances we were able to buy for them seem meaningless compared to their loss. We pray for them before we leave. The mother and I hold each other in a long embrace.

The local printing shop offers all kinds of services. We enter under the watchful eye of an African grey parrot. I had one of these parrots growing up, so I greet the bird warmly in my own language. His confused look causes me to burst out laughing. We need the local language even to communicate with animals! We are praying for the gift of tongues.

Our travels on earth teach us to be thankful for what we have, to be patient and to care for people in the pain and horror that exist all around us. As we continue on our journey, we remind ourselves of our Heavenly Companion, the Holy Spirit who guides, protects and counsels us as we go about our daily routine. May His presence never leave us as we continue to obey Him.

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