Walking in Another’s Shoes: Reflections from the Borderland

By Denise Carriaga

Denise Carriaga

Growing up in the Rio Grande Valley, I’ve always been surrounded by a deep sense of community, resilience, and culture. But I’ve also come to recognize how easily hardship can become part of the backdrop. It’s not uncommon to see someone asking for money at a busy intersection, or to drive past colonias—neighborhoods lacking basic resources—without a second thought. I grew up seeing these things so often that, eventually, they just became “normal.”

But the older I get—and especially in this past week—I’ve come to understand that what we’ve normalized is not okay. It’s not normal for people to be displaced from their homes and forced to beg for help. It’s not normal to live in a house made of compressed wood, with no working bathroom or flooring. It’s not normal to be taken from your family simply because of how you look or where you were born.

And it is absolutely not normal to risk your life—crossing jungles, rivers, and dangerous lands—only to be turned away by the very country you hoped would offer refuge. The “land of the FREE and home of the BRAVE” does not always live up to its name for those who arrive seeking safety.

Some see crossing the border without documentation as a crime deserving punishment. But what if the situation were reversed? What if the U.S. became unsafe, and your children’s lives were at risk? Would you not go wherever necessary to protect them? If we’re willing to move states for better jobs or schools, how much more would we do if we were fleeing violence or starvation?

In just one week of working with Fellowship Southwest, I’ve seen the humanity that often gets overlooked. The idea of “bad immigrants”—as Karen González points out in Beyond Welcome (p. 24)—is a dangerous misconception. What I’ve seen are families longing for protection and people yearning for the chance to work, live, and thrive with dignity. I’ve heard stories of men taken from their workplaces with nothing but their uniforms and phones—even with valid visas. I’ve heard of couples detained over tattoos meant to honor loved ones. I’ve met single mothers in the colonias who’ve been overcharged for poor construction jobs, left with homes in worse shape than before.

It’s made me wonder where, as a society—and especially as Christians—we’ve lost our way.

As Christians, we love to preach, “Love your neighbor as yourself” (Matthew 22:39), but when it comes to immigrants, how often do we actually live that out?

The Bible teaches that actions speak louder than words—like in the parable of the two sons who were told to go work in the vineyard. One son responded, “No, ai won’t go but later changed his mind and went anyway while the other son said he would go but didn’t (Matthew 21:28-31).

Jesus praised the one who followed through with action, not the one who simply said the right thing.

How many times have we seen people suffering and turned the other way, even though “He has not hidden his face from the afflicted, but has listened to their cry for help” (Psalm 22:24)? How often do we fail to welcome the foreigner, even though God commands, “When a foreigner resides among you in your land, do not mistreat them. The foreigner… must be treated as your native-born. Love them as yourself…” (Leviticus 19:33–34)?

As Christians, we have a mission to serve God’s people, each in our own way. But sometimes our hearts are too hardened to see that. With just this first week, I already feel my heart changing. I pray yours might, too.

I leave you with a poem I wrote after serving this community. I hope that you feel called to allow God to soften your heart as He has done for me:

Who would I be had I been born in their shoes?

Would I be smiling just as strong,

Or would I be slightly bruised?

Would I stand just as tall,

Or would I be walking without shoes?

Would I worry about the simplicities of today,

Or would I worry about what I’d have for did?

Would I be someone else entirely?

Oh what a gift it’d be to walk in another’s shoes.