Welcome to America

Exhausted by the immigrant shaming, I’ve been reflecting on why I am so sad when people question whether they should be here or seeing them ridiculed for not speaking English.

As with most of my views on compassion, it began with my grandparents. My first real experience with a refugee was when a homeless African refugee showed up at our church needing assistance and he was soon living with my grandparents, who generously welcomed and supported him. As a kid from a small farm town, it was a privilege to be exposed to someone who looked and sounded so different than me.

Next, in the 80’s our church welcomed refugee families Cambodia who were fleeing for their lives. My God! The courage of these folks with young children to leave all that they knew and be thrust into American culture (which I would say was even less forgiving then) is courage I will never match. Not long after one family arrived, their father was tragically killed in an accident. That single mother raised some beautiful and successful children here.

More recently, a family fled from political violence in Central America and an amazing group of folks from church sponsored them for a year. We spoke through Google translate, gestures and smiles. As grateful as they were for help learning to drive, acquiring basic needs, and navigating our healthcare system, they were insistent on being self-sufficient as quickly as possible.

I’m fortunate to have had these personal immigration experiences and grateful for the gift of empathy that grew from them.

No, it wasn’t always easy for anyone - not for them, certainly, and not for those who sacrificed time and finances to support them. But doing the hard work of love is the most rewarding.