St. Paul’s is getting ready to sponsor a refugee family, as part of our ministry with the UMCOR Mustard Seed Grant. Meredith Joubert, Director of Family Ministries, reflects upon the times that we hosted refugees on our campus in 2019. Part 1 of a two part series.
Today, ICE dropped off almost 150 people, including pregnant moms and toddlers, on the sweltering streets of Tucson. And when the call comes, you go. And so do others. And together, you love in the ways that are really the only ways that matter.
Love first. Logistics later. Here’s what love looked like this morning. Making 5am coffee for the 26 people that ICE dropped off on the streets last night, who are now our guests. The other 120 are guests in three other Methodist churches. Little boys fill their coffee cups with more sugar than I would allow my own children. It makes me smile. I am grateful they have this small treat. They quietly enter the kitchen where I am sitting, sweetly ask permission to pour themselves a cup, and grin at me with wide-eyed appreciation. They walk away with their cups like men, carrying stories on their small frames that I cannot even imagine. As sunlight filters into the dark gymnasium, I can make out the shape of mamas and toddlers snuggled up together, sharing one tiny cot. Just like my own toddlers, sleeping next to mama is the best place to sleep.
One afternoon I asked the parents if I could paint all the little girls’ fingernails. It was an overwhelming yes! It was exactly like a normal moment I’ve had countless times with my own girls & their friends. Just like my own girls, they were quick to show me where I had missed a spot. A totally, completely normal moment. After I am finished painting all of their nails, they run off, giggling, to show the moms and dads. Giggles from happy little girls sound the same in every language.
See these feet? The ones in the completely impractical green women’s ballet flats? Don’t let the women’s shoes confuse you. They are the feet of a husband, of a father, who walked to America from Honduras and legally crossed the border to apply for asylum in accordance with current US law. When he arrived to St. Paul’s, he and his family had not eaten for five days. And had not showered for far longer. His shoes were falling apart from his long journey, and our clothing donations never include enough shoes for the men. He accepts the women’s shoes and places them on his feet with appreciation. I wish I could share the other parts of his story that I know. I wish you could have seen just how grateful and humble he is. I wish you could have seen his teenage son’s beaming face when I handed him some new clothes from Walmart. He was so grateful. He kept saying thank you numerous times.
As I sat with my final six people waiting on the 11:55 pm Greyhound bus, I could barely keep my eyes open. The three little boys who were my buddies for the night as we waited for the bus started to giggle, and I startled awake. I started to laugh at myself too, so thankful for the shared humor in a grown lady falling asleep sitting straight up in a chair with her mouth wide open.
How tired must they be? How long ago was it that they had a truly restful and peaceful night of sleep? When I told two mamas goodbye, through tears the pregnant mama said “We are so poor, and you have been so kind to us.” My stance is that I will love the people who are brought into my circle. Sometimes that looks like baking a casserole for a neighbor with a new baby. Sometimes it looks like helping with your friend’s kids when she’s sick. And sometimes it looks like setting up 26 cots for some strangers as they are on a journey through your city. Loving like Jesus can look like a lot of different things, but if you’re only loving the people who look like you and who are easy to love, then are you really loving at all?
It doesn’t take much time to discover that some things are universal. Coffee. Fútbol. Music. Right before bed, I pulled out my guitar and began singing. Like moths to a flame, they all gathered. We sat on the floor lining the hallway and I handed one papi my guitar. Requests were made and in no time, everyone was singing. I could not understand the lyrics, but I could easily understand the music.
16 people remain with us: six parents, 10 children. My tears are coming easily now. I have absolutely no answer for anything and the enormity of all of it weighs heavy on me. I hear debates of policies and procedures and borders and systems, yet all I can see are people that I have come to know and deeply care about. And so all I do know is that today, I will make the coffee. There will be some fútbol. And you can be assured there will be music.