Our Stories

There isn't much of a formal update this week. Things are heavy on the ground right now, and it has been hard to stay focused due to all of the regional conflict. We'd rather tell you that plainly than pretend otherwise. But here is what we keep coming back to: In war, we look for peace. In turmoil, we look for life, hope, and future. This week, we found it in something small and ordinary. New ducklings, goslings, and chicks have been born here at the foundation. Life pressin

This week we will turn our attention to some of our more vulnerable students and show you the place that Springs of Hope plays in their life and that of their family. We have many families with complicated issues that are beyond our control and jurisdiction.  One of the fallouts of August 3, 2014 was that many normal fathers, loving, gentle, working, became either schizophrenic or bipolar within a short space of time as they witnessed atrocities being done to their wives and

Indeed it is our prayer that a new day, Newroz, will dawn over this entire region, the region that one day will be the highway that is described in Isaiah 19, a highway of peace between nations that are currently enemies. All Newroz activities have been formally and officially cancelled by the government as regional escalation invades our area. We would value your prayers for the region and all who live here as we have once again become a front line. We held a very small and

“After Job had prayed for his friends, the Lord restored his fortunes and gave him twice as much as he had before.” Job 42:10. The key here, of course, is that in a time of incomprehensible suffering and loss, Job prayed for his friends. In March 2019 an overloaded ferry capsized and sank whilst crossing the Tigris River in Federal Iraq. About 100 drowned, mostly women and children. A day of mourning was called to commemorate the tragedy, and in plain speaking, many in the Ye

About 2 years ago we reached out to the local orphanage and brought them into our world. It has been a wonderful friendship and journey together, changing the lives of those entrusted to them, and incorporating them into several of our programmes with the hope and prayer that we would play a small part in building restorative memories for them. This week we share a letter of thanks that we received from them, which, yes, in these hard days, filled our hearts with joy. Here at

Theologian Henri Nouwen has said: “In this world we have become so accustomed to creating a division between ‘us’ and ‘them’ that we often fail to see that ‘they’ are also ‘us.’” Auntie Kani is a fixture; she is like a well-worn piece of our furniture. Much loved and totally at home. She visits the Medical Clinic every day more for social connection than anything else, then drops into the office to chat and then to the kitchen for hot milk, and the garden for veggies. Auntie

I was recently approached by an academic team requesting my participation in research concerning the psychological treatment and care for child soldiers and raped girls post release/rescue from ISIS. My response was that I would not be a “good participant.”  A worthy source of information, yes, but my contribution would not be welcomed or academically respected. It would be this: Love Wins. Tool boxes of CBT are useful but Love Wins . I am sure some are sighing right now at m

Truly God bless our broccoli. Or as Bashiq said: “This is not just a vegetable; this is hope growing from the soil. The land itself is special and holds many memories.” Or as another friend termed it, “Bombastic Broccoli.” All of you know that I am unswayable in my conviction that we tend a tiny portion of what once was the Garden of Eden, and reap its benefits and blessings. This week we will open a window into extravagant blessing. Why broccoli, you may ask - particularly

The Sewing Room is a very special place. It’s not a department; it’s a world of its own. Its atmosphere is the overflow of the Hope Centre. It’s a safe place within a larger safe space. It’s a kingdom of the heart. It’s a place where love and grace, caring and mercy meet over coffee and popcorn, alongside the click of crochet needles and the hum of sewing machines. It’s a place where the broken find their voice. It’s a place of validation and empowerment. It’s a place where d

One of the blessings that we receive as we visit in the camp, or as we give our vegetables and clothes to new homes, is “May your head always be covered with oil” and “May your hands always be open.” My thoughts, of course, go to Psalm 23 in recollection of how the head of the sheep would be smothered in oil as a protective measure. We value that blessing. “May your hands always be open” so that we can give. Yes, and amen to that. Freely we have received; freely give. Last w

Daoud came to us straight from years of captivity in IXXX. He had lost all his family members apart from his grandparents. He literally threw himself into Springs of Hope. The ground shook when he walked through our gates. Not just once but day after day. We looked at ourselves wondering who this kid was when in captivity. Obviously a called, respected leader of many.  We have never asked questions. The stories tell themselves when the time is right. We knew that Daoud’s stor

As frequently happens I sit to write about something but my heart leads me elsewhere. I had planned to make use of a cold wet day by writing about the school that we adopted on the other side of the mountain. As I wrote, I  found myself sighing and then paused a long pause which turned into a several hour halt as the meditations of my heart led me to the widows of Shariya camp, each a queen in her own right. Ladies of nobility and dignity.  Ladies, our friends, our family wit