Scenes from a Year of Refugee Co-Sponsorship {guest post}

By Katie Nordenson

By any traditional measure, I am a terrible candidate to lead a group dedicated to welcoming a refugee family to their new country—I’m a serious introvert, awkward in groups and new situations, a white Midwesterner with little to no real multicultural experience (I speak only English, just recently left the US for the first time, and was in college before I experienced many common ethnic foods, much less people.)

And yet, what I did have was determination and the fierce need to make something (anything) good happen in a world where good things felt increasingly scarce, and in particular the newly politicized plight of refugees spoke to me. By definition, refugees are innocents who have suffered and been forced from their homelands, and that’s before they face the agonizing wait to be admitted to a new country for resettlement (which may never come), at which point they must build a completely new life from scratch. To me, this is exactly who Jesus was talking about when he commanded us to love our neighbors as ourselves.

And so began a year (and counting) of leading the small group at our church committed to befriending and helping a Karen family of 10 (two parents and eight children ranging from ages 2-17) resettled from Burma in the spring of 2017. Through highs, lows, and general awkwardness, here are just a few of the memorable moments:

Finding the Minnesota Council of Church refugee co-sponsorship program while googling furiously for possible ways to help, emailing it to my pastor, and receiving an immediate, unequivocal “Go for it.”

Leaning heavily on the advice from our MCC liaison that “we can do hard things” and to “lean into the awkwardness.” Those words became a lifeline many, many times.

Showing up to introduce myself to a family full of strangers from an unknown culture (only one of whom spoke any English) and trying to find the strength to go inside, much less to lead a bunch of other people inside with me.

Visiting the family’s new apartment to see how they were settling in and being treated to a delicious multi-course Karen meal. Beginning to understand that the hospitality in this arrangement would flow both ways, and feeling moved that this family, who had been through so much, could open their hearts to some strange (and potentially meddlesome) Americans just trying to help however they could.

Seeing people from church step up in amazing ways to support this work, despite its strangeness and our lack of a roadmap; showing up to visit, donating items, and taking up a special offering that covered almost half of the family’s significant travel loan.

Watching the youngest children play on a hiking trail near a beautiful waterfall, and hearing how the foliage reminded them of their home.

Being regularly told by the father that, since he had so many children and we had none, he would happily give my husband and I one or two to take home to care for us in our old age (Note: we are currently in our thirties.)

Celebrating their first 4th of July with picnic food and water balloons (a big hit, as you can imagine, with the little kids.)

Explaining to the teenage son that you can’t fish, shoot squirrels with pellet guns, and start fires in the park here without drawing the attention of the police, even if that otherwise makes perfect sense to you based on life in your village and the refugee camp.

Listening to the parents talk about their hopes of someday returning to visit Burma, and being surprised to be invited to come along as their friends—this time they would show us the ropes.

Crying in the car about how very, very hard life in America can be—so confusing and full of paperwork and rules and resumes and schedules. Feeling helpless to do more to make the transition easier, yet inspired by their resiliency and the way they took care of their family under such difficult circumstances.

Watching the children (and the parents) discover the magic of the internet, especially Facebook and YouTube videos. WWE wrestler Goldberg is a big favorite of the mother—the father once told us “When she has no friends, Goldberg is her friend.”

Eating together at a Chinese buffet the father was so excited to share with us—so very American, and his treat!

Realizing that our role was never really to make day-to-day life in America easier, but rather to make them feel welcome and connected and hopeful for their new lives. (And maybe sometimes to help make phone calls to Comcast.)

I’m not sure I have any real wisdom to impart—it’s been messy and complicated and unexpected and wonderful, and I’m still learning as I go. But I do have a plea to remember the refugees still waiting all over the world; pray for them and advocate for them in conversations when others don’t understand who they are or what they’ve been through. Most of all, remember they too are your neighbors, and don’t be afraid to step outside of your comfort zone to invite them in.

About Katie:

Katie Nordenson is a web editor and content manager living in the Twin Cities with her husband and rescue dog. She spends her time reading, exploring her adopted city, and slowly learning to love and serve her neighbor. You can find her at her website or on Facebook or Linkedin.

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The theme for August is “Homelessness, Refugees & the Stranger,” so send me a post for if you have an idea. Email me at scrapingraisins @ gmail (dot) com if you are interested in guest posting. You can find submission guidelines here. Be sure to include a headshot and bio.

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Photo credit: Photo by Fancycrave on Unsplash

August 7, 2018August 6, 2018

Dreamers, DACA and the Art of Godly Mourning {guest post}

By Dr. Michelle Reyes | Twitter: @dr_reyes2

I could see the frustration and heartache all over her face.

The woman standing before me had just heard that the Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals (DACA) Program was ending, and she was now terrified for her future in the only country she had known as home since being a young girl.

Tears flowed down both of our faces as I could only stand there and weep with her.

What was this woman to do?

Her story is a tragic one and, sadly, not so uncommon. Born in Guatemala, she had been kidnapped from her own home at age seven by human traffickers, and the stories she recounts from that time in her life are truly horrific. It was only by God’s grace that she was able to escape. During a chaotic moment, while her kidnappers were stationed near the Mexican-American border, she made a run for it. This woman ran so hard for so long that she eventually passed out, and when she awoke she found herself on the side of a Texas highway. She didn’t even realize she had crossed into the U.S. She had just been trying to run back home! A kind, old woman took her in, brought her back to health and raised her as an adopted daughter.

As the pastor’s wife of an urban, multicultural church in Austin, TX, this was not the first story of its kind that I had heard. Our church is a minority church, and it is comprised of immigrants, refugees and asylum seekers among others. These are the people that my husband and I have a desire to serve, to care for and to live life with. This includes everything from sharing meals together on a weekly basis to helping them become documented, find jobs and making sure they can pay rent each month. In fact, the more we live life with men and women like the gal from Guatemala, the more we understand their plight and the more we want to do to help them!

Our church prioritizes a variety of social justice initiatives in our community to care for the vulnerable, the poor and the needy. Just recently, we hosted an event in Austin to raise awareness to the current plight of Dreamers in our city, and we talked about ways to support them, both on an individual and federal level. For example, Dreamers are not just from Mexico and Latin American countries. They come from countries all around the world, including Cambodia. One of our own church members is a Dreamer from Cambodia, and his status in the U.S. is now in jeopardy by the current DACA situation.

Perhaps we were naïve to think our community would immediately rally around our cause. But sadly, we found that not everyone was as sympathetic as we were to these men and women.

While my husband and I hear the stories of Dreamers and our hearts break with their plight, others can only see them as nothing more than lawbreakers, who have entered our country illegally and need to be deported immediately.

I know that the complexity of certain issues like immigration cause many people to first turn to a political stance for guidance. But I’m not here to make one statement or another, regarding party ideals.

I simply believe that we, as Christians, forget to care for the individual, to see the humanity of the immigrant, the Imago Dei in them, and to mourn for their pains, regardless of what the laws and systems in our country dictate.

If anyone is a model for how we should view the hurting minority it is God himself.

If anyone is a model for how we should view the hurting minority it is God himself. @dr_reyes2

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Consider Psalm 146:9, which states, “The Lord watches over the sojourners; he upholds the widow and the fatherless, but the way of the wicked he brings to ruin.” The psalmist here paints a picture of a protective, loving God, who watches over the foreigner in the midst of His own people, caring for them and “upholding” them.

Should we not do the same? Should we not also mourn the evils that our fellow, hurting minority brothers and sisters are experiencing?

Immigration laws aside, no matter who you are or what your circumstance is, there is always pain when a family is torn apart. Being judged because of your skin color causes pain. Being thought less of because you are poor causes pain. Being ostracized because you can’t speak the majority language well causes pain. Being told that your only usefulness in a foreign country is as a manual laborer, despite the familial and professional dreams you have, causes pain.

I am happy to say that people from our community did attend our Standing For Dreamers event, and the discussions and ideas for activism were positively received. Among some of the main things that we shared that night was this: When we stand before God on the Day of Judgment, do you think He will praise us for being stingy and judgmental toward those less powerful than ourselves? It’s easy to form strong opinions against someone. It’s not as easy to sympathize for the other.

I am passionate about our commitment, as Christians, to doing mourning well. My prayer for all of us is to always strive to better emulate God Himself in his love for the sojourner, to be better at mourning with those who mourn, and to care for those who are hurting, no matter what their ethnicity, nationality or skin color is.

About Michelle:

Michelle Reyes, PhD. is pastor’s wife, literary scholar, and momma of two littles. She is a regular contributor for Think Christian, (in)courage and Austin Moms Blog, where she writes on faith, family, and diversity. Michelle helped plant Church of the Violet Crown in Austin, Texas in 2014—an urban, multicultural church where her husband, Aaron Reyes serves as lead pastor. Follow Michelle on Facebook, Twitter or Instagram.

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March 24, 2017March 24, 2017

Day 24: A letter to my 13-year-old Self {Guest Post for 31 Days of #WOKE}

By Leah Abraham | Twitter: @leahabraham9

Dear 13-year-old Leah,

High school is hard, isn’t it? As a freshman in high school, you are more worried about relating to your peers and your changing body than your grades.

Of course you would be. It’s not easy moving from India to America at 13. You’re trying to figure out the simple things, like navigating the grocery store and figuring out how to order coffee from Starbucks. All you want to do is fit in, belong, and not feel so lonely anymore.

But you’ll manage. You’ll figure it out piece by piece. All immigrants do eventually. You won’t call yourself an immigrant for a few years, and you won’t have the time or energy to contemplate the complex race issues of this country just yet. But you will soon.

Right now, you’re learning how to change your accent. Oh yes, it’s hard work. You’re rewiring your brain completely. You’re carefully considering each syllable before it leaves your tongue. You stand in front of the mirror, practicing your speech over and over and over and over again until you can’t remember how to pronounce “February.”

You’re exhausted and embarrassed. But don’t worry. By this time next year, no one will know that you are an immigrant. No one will know your “dirty little secret.” You’ll mask your loneliness with a newfound accent, and you’ll manage to get through high school in one piece.

You just want to fit in. You want to belong, to be loved and to be accepted.

Oh, love, there is no shame in that. You’ll still crave those things years later.

And here’s the thing — in about ten years, you’ll think about the cost of giving up your Indian accent. Remember the concept of leaving home to find home? You’ll start wondering if it’s the same with your accent.

You’ll wonder if by giving up your accent, you were really trying to give up on your people, your heritage, and a part of yourself that you were too young to love.

One day, you’ll wonder if you’ve alienated yourself from other immigrants, people you consider your people.

You see, the current administration isn’t the best. These days, the word “immigrant” bears a new connotation, one that divides and segregates and alienates, and you’ll wonder how much you’re still allowed to call yourself an immigrant.

You’ll have friends who wake up each morning, shaking in fear of being deported. You’ll have friends who feel forced to “act white” and suppress their heritage and culture. You’ll have friends who struggle with racial justice. Heck, you’ll struggle with racial justice.

You’ll be afraid to ask questions that might be “stupid” or “insensitive,” but you’ll do your best to ask them anyway, because you cannot stand the new administration and the hurt it is causing.

You’ll remember your friends who are hurting, your community who’s struggling, and your people who you’ve learned to love over the past decade.

You’ll remember their stories–especially the ones about families emptying their pockets and selling their dreams so they could build a better world for their kids.

You will refuse to look away because you want to be their hope in these dark days.

It always comes down to hope, doesn’t it? Hope for a better tomorrow. Hope for freedom. Hope for belonging and life.

You hoped to be loved and accepted when you lost your accent. When you’re 23, you’ll grieve that loss and hope to forgive yourself one day.

Hey, 13-year-old Leah, practice radical hope. Practice it, not only for yourself, but also for the people you are about to meet. Practice it for the immigrants who hustle daily. Practice it for your friends who fear deportation. Practice it for those who struggle with racial justice. Practice it for those who tire under the new administration.

Practice it until you remember that you don’t have to change yourself to be loved, to be seen or to belong. You are loved, seen and invited to belong just as you are.

You don’t have to change yourself to be loved, to be seen or to belong. @leahabraham9

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About Leah:

Leah is a storyteller + writer + journalist + creative + empathizing romantic + pessimistic realist + ISFP + Enneagram type 2 + much more. She lives in the Seattle area where she works as an education reporter and features writer. Bonus facts: She loves the great indoors, hates to floss, and is obsessed with Korean food and her dorky, immigrant family.

New to the Series? Start HERE (though you can jump in at any point!).

A 31 Day Series Exploring Whiteness and Racial Perspectives

During the month of March, 2017, I will be sharing a series called 31 Days of #Woke. I’ll be doing some personal excavating of views of race I’ve developed through being in schools that were under court order to be integrated, teaching in an all black school as well as in diverse classrooms in Chicago and my experiences of whiteness living in Uganda and China. I’ll also have some people of color share their views and experiences of race in the United States (I still have some open spots, so contact me if you are a person of color who wants to share). So check back and join in the conversation. You are welcome in this space.

Tag: immigrant

Scenes from a Year of Refugee Co-Sponsorship {guest post}

Sign up for the (occasional) Mid-month Digest and the (loosely) “end of the month” Secret Newsletter for Scraping Raisins Here:

Dreamers, DACA and the Art of Godly Mourning {guest post}

Sign up for the (occasional) Mid-month Digest and the (loosely) “end of the month” Secret Newsletter for Scraping Raisins Here:

Day 24: A letter to my 13-year-old Self {Guest Post for 31 Days of #WOKE}

New to the Series? Start HERE (though you can jump in at any point!).

Welcome to Scraping Raisins!