By Abigail Schweizer
As an intern for Home for Refugees’ Family Reunification Program, which serves to reunify children of Central American asylum-seekers with their families, I am in regular contact with most of the program’s 36 families. I began in October 2020 with a mixture of apprehension and excitement. Most of my conversational Spanish came from the classroom. Now I’d have to apply that to real situations, and I was nervous. My excitement stemmed from an eagerness to learn about the journeys of asylum-seekers in the United States, and has since morphed into deep gratitude that I get to expand my worldview.
When my internship with HFR began last October, my conversations with the families were short, but by early 2021, the initial ten-minute conversations grew longer as my growing investment in the families’ lives paralleled the growth of my list of questions. I was eager to hear about the progress they’d made involving work permits, jobs, secure housing, and health care, hoping that the original “no’s” had turned into “yeses.”
I found that while many of those who’ve lived here for about two years respond with gratitude, their voices are also layered with exhaustion. Before ending each call, I ask the same question: “What is causing you the most stress at the moment?” Each time, they repeat the issues they’ve experienced with meeting basic needs.
Some time ago, after a few hours of calling the families, a thought slipped into my mind, and I regrettably let it run wild. I thought, “Most of these families have no community support, no Home Team to guide them through life in the United States. Andrea (my supervisor) and I are the only ones who can and are helping them. Tomorrow I should start looking up dental clinics, food banks, churches, and other low income-resources for them so that they can find support in their community. But if I take the time to look up resources, I won’t have time to call the other families, or work on social media to educate the public, or complete my other projects.” These thoughts ran through my head, and I could feel my brain physically tightening. The only solution was to pray.
After time had passed, through prayer I was able to return to my monologue with a clear mind, ready to correct the faults in my thinking. On an earthly level, to think that I am the only one who supports these families is false. There are many other people and organizations who seek to come alongside displaced families, just like Home for Refugees. My thinking was also incorrect on a spiritual level. In addition to removing agency away from other HFR staff, other organizations, and from the families themselves, I was taking away God’s agency. By believing I have to do everything for the families, I take away His love, providence, and desire for justice. I take God’s strength and the power of prayer and give in to fear and anxiety.
Correcting my thinking has brought me hope, and my prayer has transformed: “God, the odds are stacked against these families. Fill them with supernatural hope and joy as they struggle to survive in a new country in the middle of a pandemic. Give compassion to those around them, and surround them with people who can guide them. Give me the wisdom to figure out the most effective way to serve each of them with my knowledge, time, and resources. Help myself and the families to continually trust in You through everything.”
Through encouragement, discouragement, and anxiety, I am anchored in the hope of Christ. While earthly happiness is fickle, my rooting in the Lord allows me to have a surpassing supernatural hope. Philippians 3:20-21 says, “But our citizenship is in heaven. And we eagerly await a Savior from there, the Lord Jesus Christ, who, by the power that enables him to bring everything under his control, will transform our lowly bodies so that they will be like his glorious body.” Even if earthly kingdoms deny us passage and our bodies are harmed by sickness and injustice, we can look to heaven for eternal hope and rest in the security provided by Jesus.