Asking them what kind of clothing they needed, what their sizes were... Packing these never-ending stacks of yellow bags with their "clothing order"... Searching to find their tent out of hundreds... And seeing the smile on their face when we finally got to bring them the clothing they desperately needed.
Even constantly having to tell people "No, I'm sorry, we don't have [fill in the blank]"... Even when we would get frustrated with the inefficiency of our system (how are you supposed to logically clothe 4,000 people?!)... Even when we couldn't find their tents or they would scream at us for not having what they needed...
I would take ALL of it back, the good AND the hard, just to be back there with those sweet, hurting, lovely people again. I miss walking around camp, simply smiling at them, watching their faces light up. I miss hearing "my friend, my friend!" every ten feet. I miss sitting in tents and units with my refugee friends and translators, just hearing their stories, playing cards, loving them, sharing a meal together. I miss goofing around with my translator friends and trying to learn their languages. I miss constantly carrying around a mini notebook and pen in my pocket to attempt to record the needs of everyone who stopped us so that maybe, if we had an extra few minutes, I could get them that shirt or pair of shoes that they needed. I miss seeing the miracles of more clothing arriving only an hour or two after completely running out of that specific item, of hearing riots beginning outside of our tent - but then dissipate within minutes after praying for peace.
Maybe it's a weird thing to miss, but I miss that overcrowded refugee camp called Moria. I miss my dear friends there... You are never far from my heart.