To work among refugees is to work with people who are living life not as originally planned. How familiar has that concept become this year for those of us who are blessed to have a country of our own? Here in economically depressed Sicily, countless refugees are trying to rebuild their lives with bricks that seem to be made of sand.

I returned to Sicily for my third year as a missionary associate just weeks before the lockdown began. Instead of gathering supplies to teach an art class to Pakistani children, I found myself buying masks, nonperishables, and extra hand soap.

But even in lockdown there were opportunities to connect with refugees in the community. In April my friend’s daughter asked me if I would do an Easter craft with her. She expected to make an Easter bunny or maybe a painted egg. But through the power of the internet, we each designed and colored a garland of palm leaves for her bedroom. We talked about why Palm Sunday is so important in light of the Easter holiday she has watched with her schoolmates observe since arriving from Pakistan. It was another chance to sow a seed of hope during a season of panic.

The conversation I had with my friend made me continue to reflect on the story of Palm Sunday. That day the crowds had a distinct expectation that Jesus would deliver Jerusalem from their oppressor, Rome. The plans the Palm Sunday crowd held in their hearts were ripped in two the morning the news reached their homes that the Man from Nazareth was towering over the city not on a throne - but on a cross.

The disappointment of the crowd stood out to me this year. Along with everyone else, my year was not going as planned. I thought I would be in the middle of teaching classes and reconnecting with old students and their families. The little gifts I brought for friends remained tucked away in my luggage.

Just the other day I ran into a student and his mother in the piazza. He had grown so tall since the lockdown began, I didn’t recognize him at first. I stood up and greeted them. After inquiring about how things were going with me, his mother lamented at their canceled summer plans. They would have traveled to Morocco to visit family. She looked at me with uncertainty and said, “Hopefully things will return to normal soon.”

This woman’s wish resonated with me. It was particularly hard for me to leave the United States this time around. It was not like leaving for the mission field for the first time when everything before me would be new and exciting. I looked forward to continuing to serve the ever-growing refugee community, but the sense of wonder of starting something new had worn off, and i knew the pain of being separated from my family. It was even more difficult to be apart from them during a season that prompted so many what-ifs. I realized that what-ifs whirling in my mind at the start of the pandemic were the questions my refugee friends had had to battle for years.

Some of those what-ifs have become what-ifs for my friends who have missed the weddings of sisters and the burials of mothers.

The burden of not knowing what the days to come will hold may have us feeling hopeless, uncertain, and if we’re honest, sad. But for one who finds hope in Jesus resurrected, though much has changed, much remains the same: eternal. Our Savior has still overcome death. Reconciliation with the Father is still ours. Our hope is still intact.

As for the refugee community, they continue to live life not as originally planned; the same needs they had before remain. Clothes still need to be washed. People still ail from non-COVID-related illnesses. Pantries are still bare. Fathers are still separated from wives and children. Hearts still long for the type of liberation only a Savior who rose from the dead can bring.

Laura Fazio serves as a Missionary Associate in Sicily, Italy. She has been serving the refugee community in Sicily since 2017.