Open the Castle Gates: Lessons from Turkey

By Sonora L Myers

Malachi and I had sent mom and dad to enjoy a romantic meal for their anniversary which they had forgotten about until an hour ago. Left to buy dinner for ourselves, we decided to head back to the little döner restaurant with the scabby, stray cat that we’d eaten at the day before. We had stopped a moment outside of Starbucks when two small boys approached wanting to sell us cheap, blue, foam flower crowns. The city was so full of beggars and small children selling crafts and packets of kleenex that I had begun to grow insensitive to their presence.

So when the small boys asked if we would like a flower crown, I quickly brushed the offer aside with a polite Turkish ‘tsk’ and said, “Biz iyiz” (we’re good). Surprised that we ‘foreigners’ could speak Turkish, they inquired about how two Americans knew their language. I was tired - emotionally, physically and mentally. This evening was our last day of our month-long sojourn in Europe and Turkey. After weeks of exerting my poor Turkish skills to their maximum communication and comprehension levels as we reunited with old friends, helped a church minister to many small villages in the earthquake zone and played with the kids on Gypsy Hill, I had little capacity for a chit chat with these two children. Shrinking back, I stood and zoned out as Malachi answered their probing questions. 

I was mindlessly waiting for them to leave us in peace so we could go and enjoy our dinner when, as I stood there, passive to anything but my own tired brain, one of the little boys broke from the conversation, approached me, and in one swift motion reached up and placed a foam flower crown on my head. His childish little face lit up in the sweetest smile as he said, “Bu senin için abla” (This is for you big sister). And just as quickly as they had appeared, they were gone, drifting around the corner and into the crowd.

I stood stunned for a moment and then it was like I woke up from a long slumber to where I was - Kuşadası, Turkey, to the people rushing around us on all sides, to the beauty, to the need, to my utter desensitization to life. I stood in the insecurity I felt by my blundering attempts to communicate in a language I hadn’t spoken since I was six, in my feeling of vulnerability and fatigue and the need to remain dignified and not look foolish. I had built up walls around my heart, had taken up my home in a cold brick castle rather than humbly accepting the warm hospitality of the country and people of Turkey. I had allowed my own limitations to limit my heart. Rather than becoming personal, I withdrew and became private. I closed my eyes to my presence in a place full of people that God desperately wanted a relationship with. I didn’t put myself in the Lord’s hands, trusting that he would protect me and use my vulnerability but rather, I protected myself at the cost of losing sight of what mattered most. I choose security over generosity. I acted out of a place of scarcity rather than leaning into the rich abundance of God. 

I still have that flower crown. I keep it as a reminder to be generous, not just with my money but with everything; my time, my attention, my energy, myself.  I keep it as a reminder to live out of humility in the security of the Lord rather than self-forged walls and a castle with closed gates.
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