Zoes’s Reflection from the Border

June 27th, 2024

AN INTERN’S REFLECTION: THREE OF FOUR

Temporary Home

By Zoe Moser

We have come to know one family at the migrant center fairly well. Before they arrived, they had an appointment to enter the United States. However, by the time they had the money to travel to northern Mexico, they had arrived too late. They have been patiently waiting for another appointment ever since. It has been three and a half months. One day, the youngest daughter in the family came to us, asking to be interviewed. Only eight years old, but she had a story and wanted to share it. We sat down and Christina eventually asked, “Why did you leave Honduras?”. She immediately replied, “My dad wanted to kill my mom”. As we talked to her more, we came to know that this little girl was quite accustomed to not having a father. He wasn’t present for important parts of her life, and when he was there, he was a threatening figure, not a loving one. She went on to explain that her father was only part of the reason they had left their home country. Her hermanito had autism, so they also left to find better help for him in the United States. As if on cue, her little brother walked into the room and she ran to him, engulfing him in a hug. I watched as tears rolled down her cheek. When asked how she felt talking about these tough things, she barely got out the word…“triste”. At this moment, I felt helpless. I couldn’t help but think…why am I even here? While I knew some about immigration policy, I didn’t know enough to explain why her family hadn’t yet received another appointment, nor could I advise them on the ways they could obtain legal status in the United States. While I knew some Spanish, at that moment I had no words. It didn’t feel like I had enough fluency to even be a comforting voice. What I knew, the skills and experience I possessed, just weren’t enough.  However, what hurt my heart the most and what compelled me to want to help this little girl wasn’t necessarily her sad backstory. I’d known her long enough to know that there was so much more to her than that. She was a beautiful, strong, and kind little girl with tremendous faith. She was the girl who recognized my difficulties with Spanish and would go the extra mile to communicate with me, even if it meant re-explaining what another kid had said. She’s the little helper, always asking, “¿Te ayudo? ¿Te ayudo?”. She’s the bundle of joy, who when we took her for a walk along the river, ran to its shores, hands high in the air. She’s the little girl who when asked about her hopes and dreams for living in the U.S., responded that she just wanted to learn. Sure, I was struck by this girl’s sad story. It was unfair. It felt unjust. However, what struck me the most about her, what compelled me to love her and rack my brain trying to figure out how to help her in any way I could was simply knowing her.  A passage from 2 Corinthians reads, “For Christ’s love compels us, because we are convinced that one died for all, and therefore all died… So from now on we regard no one from a worldly point of view” (2 Corinthians 5:14, 16). Getting to know her allowed me to see her for who she truly is: a child of God and part of His family, and therefore, part of mine. This brings me back to the question I often find myself asking…why am I here? I may never truly know my purpose here in the borderlands. However, when I start to doubt my role…when I feel hopeless and futile…I remember, “We are therefore Christ’s ambassadors…” (2 Corinthians 5:20). Lately, this verse has been a great reminder of where I do and don’t belong. As odd or as mystical as it may sound, my home isn’t part of this world. I was born in the United States, but since I chose to follow Jesus my heart and soul lie with Him and abide in His kingdom. Therefore, while I am here, I know at least part of my purpose: to be an ambassador of Christ’s Kingdom. This perspective not only changed how I viewed this little girl but other migrants as well. This perspective compels me to not only support and love those in my worldly community but also those in Christ’s community. When I remember to whom I belong, it changes my perspective.

Will it change yours?