I am a couple of days late on when I wanted to publish this blog post, but I suppose now is as good a time as ever…
There has been something that has been weighing heavy on my heart lately and I wanted to blog about it. This is my truth and something personal to me and my family. With the 4th of July just passing, there is a lot of political talk and debates surrounding this whole immigration issue and although I understand that there are laws in place to create order, what is going on at the border, whether it has been or hasn’t been happening for ages, is still something that hurts my heart. The arguments of “they shouldn’t be breaking the law” or “they need to do it the proper way” bother me so much. I will never wrap my mind around the “logic” that people use to justify the ripping apart of families.
My entire family, with the exception of myself and my brother closest to me in age were all born in Mexico. My parents migrated here illegally with a 3 year old, a 2 year old and a set of twin babies that were only 9 months old. Maybe it wasn’t the “right way” but when I think about my parents story and the journey they embarked on in order to give themselves and my siblings a better life, it makes me proud of them, but also hurts my heart for the hardships they endured.
My mother was only 24 years old when she and my father decided that this was the right choice for them and they knew it would not be easy. They knew they would be risking their lives, their freedom and still felt that this was the best choice for them. My mother didn’t even know how to swim well, but she got in the river and swam across twice with one child in her arms at a time, and my uncle had the set of twins in his arms. My father was already waiting for them on the other side. They had to walk hundreds of miles through a desert hauling whatever little belongings they could carry and 4 children. When I hear my mother and father recount this story, tears fill my eyes, because I can see and understand how love was what drove them to this decision.
In Mexico my dad owned buses and routes and did well for himself, but he helped his dad support his family. He is the oldest male. My dad has very little education because he had to work to support his family at a very early age. He only ever made it to the 2nd grade. Even with little to no education, my dad is still one of the smartest men I know. When he finally got to a place to work his own business as a “rutero” (driver), my grandfather, who was always a womanizer and gambling man, and my father had a big fall out. This prompted my dad to make the decision to move to the U.S. to provide for his family. So my dad began crossing over to the U.S. to look for work and left my mother and siblings behind while he found something stable in the U.S. and when he was finally able, he would let my mother know when it was time to cross “El Rio Grande”.
There wasn’t much planning or thought into it, other than, “this is what we have to do to live a better life.” My mom was scared. She tells me how much she prayed about this decision. My dad tells me too about how the grace of God is what allowed for them to even make it here. I wish I could go into all the minor details about how this journey took place, so you could have a better understanding of what they really went through during this time. Regardless, they came here with only one thing in mind, and that was to provide a better life for their family. They never got government assistance, they always opened their home up to others in need and I have literally witnessed my dad even give up the shirt off his back to a stranger in need. We never had much in terms of riches, but I grew up in a home with a love for God, a love for our neighbor and with parents that set a great example of what it meant to lend a helping hand to those in need.
Now, here we are, all these years later, my parents became permanent residents shortly after they got to the U.S. and but are still in the process of finally becoming naturalized citizens. I share all this to give you a glimpse of ONE story. My family’s story.
All of those people at the border, coming to the U.S. seeking asylum, just trying their best to provide a better life for their children, all have stories too. Some are fleeing from mobs, cartels, persecution, etc. We do not know their stories, but could we maybe try to understand? Can we for a moment put ourselves in their shoes? Where is the compassion? Or even ask yourself, what would you do for your own family to give them a shot at a better life? Would you not do whatever it took? Even if that meant breaking some laws…?
I think about Jesus. Where is His heart in all of this? What would Jesus do? Would His heart hurt for what is hurting mine?
All politics aside, I believe this is a humanitarian issue. I don’t know where your heart is on this issue and this is not a blog post open for political debate, this is just an “anchor baby’s” perspective and story of my own about what my family went through to live the “American Dream”.
This is just a glimpse, but there is more to my story. There were many hardships they faced in the process but they did what they felt led to do. Wouldn’t you?
Leviticus 19:33-34 “When a stranger sojourns with you in your land, you shall not do him wrong. You shall treat the stranger who sojourns with you as the native among you, and you shall love him as yourself, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt: I am the Lord your God.”
