Wonder in a Christmas Star

It sparkled. It literally danced while emitting colors in the darkened sky. The Christmas Star, appearing on the night of the Winter Solstice, December 21st. Known as the Great Conjunction, when Jupiter and Saturn align spectacularly close in the sky.

I watched with delight. A mysterious, mystical, magical sight.

Like a child in wonder. Not quite believing the colors I was seeing sparking from this bright star.

But I wasn’t imagining it. My friends, who’d joined me on a walk out under the expansive New Mexican sky, mentioned this colorful phenomenon aloud before I did. We all stood still, looking up in amazement.

Not unlike poor shepherds so many dark nights ago.

With my friends by my side, I knew that, yes, indeed, the colors flashing from this bright light were not my imagination.

Nor were the synchronicities that occurred leading up to and announcing this special night. Both spiritually and astrologically.

The O Antiphon on December 21^st was O Radiant Dawn. And that night, we entered the age of Aquarius, which signifies dawn. The dawning of a new era. That alone spoke to me.

Astrologically, Jupiter and Saturn coming together are believed to have influence on a grander scale. Their convergence at this point in time marks the beginning of a 20-year cycle of change and innovation.

I’ve read that Jupiter is associated with the principles of growth, expansion, healing, prosperity, good fortune, and miracles.  Saturn is associated with focus, precision, nobility, ethics, civility, lofty goals, great achievements, dedication, but also with restriction and long-term planning. When they combine, we can expect a major ideological reset. All in its own good time.

(Photo: Steve Allen/Getty Images)

It’s true that the planets regularly appear to pass each other in the solar system. But it’s been nearly 400 years since the planets passed this close to each other in the sky, and nearly 800 years since the alignment of Saturn and Jupiter occurred at night.

And this time, it’s happening as we enter the age of Aquarius. An air sign, which represents freedom, looks to the future, and brings radical change.

For these, and so many other reasons, this Christmas Star has excited me. Lifted my spirit.

And my sense of wonder.

It’s given me a sign of hope for this moment in which we find ourselves. A much-needed hope. For what is possible. More love, more harmony, more equality, more dynamic equilibrium. Innovative growth and healing.

Because we are not alone on this planet, in this universe. Spiritual help is available. And I believe there truly is more than a mysterious synchronicity playing out.

What if we can be part of what is unfolding in this age? Part of a renewed sense of hope and healing?

What if we could be willing to be vulnerable, receive what is being offered, and follow, like the wise men who followed the Christmas Star? Since they were astrologers, it makes sense that they would follow a dazzling phenomenon in the sky. An astrological event. Even though they truly did not know where it would lead them. But they were open, awake, and willing to be vulnerable in the unknown. Trusting to let it take them where it would.

And that’s what it will take. Being willing to be open and vulnerable. Captured by our wonder and delight in what is possible. Trusting that this is more than just a random universe. And following it into the fullness of our dazzling light.

The Razor’s Edge

Last week, just before the holiday season began, workers with the U.S. Border Patrol finished placing their gift to El Paso across several miles of its border wall. Razor wire.

The pesky, prickly, lethal metal contraption now glints in the desert sun atop what has become a 30-foot barrier between downtown El Paso and Juarez, Mexico. Their reason, according to a U.S. Customs and border Protection spokesperson is “to dissuade individuals from scaling the border wall and to reduce the risk of injuries sustained from falling off the barrier.”

Border Patrol admits that 18- and even 30-foot fencing is NOT an insurmountable obstacle. That’s why they’ve added the razor wire. It buys them time to get to the wall before the scalers make it over. And, they say, it will help deter “illegal entries.”

Yes, that’s their reasoning, as absurd as it may sound. They’re hoping it will “dissuade” them, but they know it will not stop the migrants from coming.

It’s important to note that since COVID began, we’ve closed our ports of entry to asylum seekers, thereby removing any legal way of entering. That means more people have resorted to riskier routes, including scaling this monstrous freakin’ metal wall. We’ve been seeing this happen more frequently over the past several months. Some get over unscathed. Others suffer broken bones or a broken back. For some, the practice has ended in death when they slip or are pushed over.

Now they’re going to maneuver through razor wire.

Because I’m sure the smugglers to whom migrants pay outrageous fees to help them across will bring wire cutters along. These smugglers are already placing camouflage ladders on the Mexico side, and at the right moment, directing their human cargo to scale the 18- to 30-ft wall.

In my book, any reasonable, intelligent, mildly compassionate human being would observe this situation and wonder why we’re continuing to waste billions of dollars – not millions but billions – on outdated barriers that don’t work. Are we not in the 21^st century – a technological, digital, Drone-crazy age? An age of unprecedented advances in which we could make other, more logical, cost-effective and efficient options? An age in which enough intelligence and resources exist to devise more humane options?

What is particularly disturbing to me is how hellbent we are on keeping “these people” out. So much so that we’re willing to construct a steel structure that obstructs the natural flow of migration along the southern border, adversely affects wildlife and the environment, allows government to forcibly acquire private land through eminent domain, destroys natural habitats, and forces desperate people to make harrowing decisions. All this to build an ineffective, ugly, cruel symbol of so-called security that will never accomplish its intention.

Yes, it’s true – I have a strong opinion about this. I’ve seen its harmful effects. Its costly futility.

And I know that desperate folks do desperate things.

I ask you to consider, when you’re standing on the edge of a precipice, with a drop into the unknown before you, or a life of despair and fear over your shoulder, what choice will you make?

I’ll admit that I have taken more than a few risks in my lifetime. I’ve stood on the edges of despair and sadness. Been forced off a cliff into the unknown and the unexpected. Even dared to jump off into the abyss.

But I’ve never known the kind of desperation that these people I’ve encountered have faced. I’ve never stood on the edge of having to choose between a life of hopeless, abject poverty or the high stakes required to get me out of that hell.

Nor have I lived through the effects of back-to-back hurricanes like the category 5 storms of Eta and Iota that recently stormed through El Salvador, Guatemala, and Honduras, eradicating entire villages, leaving millions homeless and starving, with no assistance from government. The double whammy hurricanes flooded homes and shelters, wiped out crops and other livelihoods, and followed on the heels of a pandemic that had already challenged their ability to survive.

I suspect we will see more Central Americans forced to leave home to find other means of survival. Seeing the aftermath, aid workers in these countries are already predicting the migration. According to an article in The Daily Beast, “The hurricanes come on top of a COVID-19-related economic depression, which added to some of the world’s highest levels of criminal violence, in one of the world’s regions most susceptible to the impact of climate change.”

As I look upon the ugliness and cruelty of our border wall, I know that this is not the total picture. Nor is it the end of the story. Hundreds of thousands of folks across the country – seen and unseen – have walked in solidarity with us to accompany these migrants and refugees over the past several years.

What I have witnessed in this ever-expanding community gives me hope.

And reminds me, in this time of Advent — this season of hopeful waiting — that justice and mercy, hope and faith, kindness and righteousness will meet, and brotherly/sisterly love will prevail.

I know that something better IS POSSIBLE. And I am willing to take the risk, to walk on the edges of society, to bring it to fruition.

A Tempestuous Time

It’s a time unlike any I’ve lived through until now.

We awakened this morning to so much emotion and anxiety circulating in our country as we wait for millions of votes to be counted. We live on the edge of the strong possibility of violence erupting on either or both sides. We continue to be infected and die from a virus that cares nothing about our political beliefs nor our apathy and annoyance with its presence.

Most of us feel uncertain and powerless.

Despite the outcome of this election, we’ve landed as a nation in the middle of a whirling mass of blame, hate-filled rhetoric, distrust of others, conspiracy theories, and blockades to civil discourse.

Our inability to get beyond labels associated with political affiliation, religious beliefs, ethnicity, sexuality, and even one’s home state has distanced us from truly seeing and listening to one another.

Yes, we’re smack in the middle of a painful, turbulent time. And it’s easy to get lost in the eye of such a tempest and lose sight of the shore.

Yet hope lies in our midst. A hope that is not tied to external circumstances or desired outcomes. A hope that will exist no matter who gains access to the White House.

Yesterday, after I returned from volunteering at the absentee ballot warehouse, knowing it was going to be a rough night ahead, I turned to my spiritual practices. I tuned into Zoom prayer and meditation vigils in which people from all over the country, equally as concerned, sat in silence together for the good of all. I participated in body prayer and grounded movements to reconnect with my Source. To reground to the God of love who provides and guides and never abandons despite appearances.

Yet, later in the evening, I felt the anxiety creep in as I watched the election results. Rather than go into an emotional reaction, I used the “welcoming prayer,” a body prayer in which I identify and feel the sensations in my body before letting them go.

The practice involves focusing inwardly, accepting and welcoming all that arises, no matter how uncomfortable it feels, until the energy lessens. Then, symbolically opening my hands, I release whatever the emotion is, using a mantra to let go of my desire to control or change what is before me.

And yet something does change within me. Something more spacious, more flowing, arises. Something akin to freedom.

Acceptance, it turns out, is freedom. It’s not defeatist. It’s not about giving up. On the contrary, it’s about freely giving until there’s nothing left to be attached to.

And then you open to the grace – the hope – that was always there.

As I practiced last night, that shakiness I felt in my body as I welcomed the anxiety brought on a small taste of the fear Jesus must have felt the night he spent in the Garden of Gethsemane as he grew more intensely aware of the painful, humiliating, evil thing that was about to happen. I found myself wondering, who wouldn’t run from the scenario he was about to face? Yet he was still willing to accept what lie before him. To say, “Your will be done.” To empty himself and give it all.

I understand that to not cling to your own life nor to a desired outcome takes immense spiritual maturity. To willingly enter into a painful scenario out of love for others, even strangers, seems unreal. And yet it is real.

And we know how to do this. We know people, just like us, who have offered this kind of extravagant love, a self-sacrificing love that makes no sense to someone who doesn’t understand, to someone who wonders what you personally got out of it.

Yet this is the kind of love that will save us from sinking in this current storm. As someone reminded me recently, we are not here to fix the world, but to love it.

Although I can’t conceive what will emerge on the other side of this, I do know I want to be part of this love’s unfolding. I’m willing to do the hard inner work to feel my own pain, my sorrow and grief when I know others are suffering, so that I can love more graciously and generously, neither clinging to nor identifying with the outcome. I want to offer the best of who I am, with my heart open, for the remainder of my time on this planet.

I offer a plea for the best of us to emerge out of this storm. That each of us be accountable for our thoughts and actions, for how we show up in this moment, with each other. That we let go of our own clinging and identifying, keep our hearts open, stay grounded in our Source, and offer the best of who we are for the journey ahead.

In this tempestuous time, we are going to need all hands on deck.

A Special Thank You on International Women’s Day

Today, March 8th, is International Women’s Day. The perfect day to say thank you to all of you out there who supported Blanca, the woman I wrote about in my last post. She is one remarkably strong woman.

And soon she will be reunited with her family! I’m thrilled!

You should be, too. Through your prayers and donations, we surpassed our goal of $8,000! In future blog posts, I hope to share more about Blanca’s progress.

But in the meantime, make sure you join the rest of the world in celebrating the special women in your life. Those strong, courageous and nurturing women who’ve mentored you. Guided you. Loved you. Taught you. Helped you to be the compassionate, caring, and wise being you are.

If you missed the opportunity today, you’ve got the rest of the month since March has been designated Women’s History Month. Another fact I didn’t know until recently.

When I was studying Spanish in Bolivia a couple of years ago, International Women’s Day was a big deal. Wives, moms, grandmothers, girlfriends, sisters. Women in all kinds of roles all over the city of Cochabamba were receiving gifts, YouTube videos, cards of praise and poetry. Messages came through billboards, radio and TV, advertisements, phone texts. It was an even bigger deal than Mother’s Day.

Yet it was news to me. I not only didn’t know that there was such a thing as International Women’s Day, but that people in other countries honored it so seriously.

What happened to us, I wondered?

But this month I feel like we celebrated in grand style by helping to free Blanca.

A widow in pain. A mother who would do anything for her family. A woman who has the kind of courage that needs to be honored today.

This day we gave at least one woman hope. And realized what is possible.

In honor of International Women’s Day, I’m posting a few good quotes from women. These quotes speak to my path. The path I’ve chosen.

And I’d say you’ve probably chosen this path, too.

Thank you.

“If you don’t get out of the box you’ve been raised in, you won’t understand how much bigger the world is.” – Angelina Jolie

“Optimism is the faith that leads to achievement.”– Helen Keller

“When the whole world is silent, even one voice becomes powerful.” – Malala Yousafzai

Spreading Hope

Hope.

This post is dedicated to spreading hope.

It may seem like there’s not much of it around. Especially with all the disheartening and discouraging news out there. But good things are happening, too. People are mobilizing for positive change.

People like you and me.

And today you have an opportunity to join me in spreading hope.

In fact, I can’t do it without you.

That’s what this story is about. An opportunity to make a positive change in the life of one special mother and son. A mother who has already suffered so much.

Blanca is an asylum seeker who came to one of our ports of entry with her 12-year-old son, Luis, to save his life. After her husband, a military officer, in El Salvador, was assassinated, Blanca tried to stay in her country. She and her two sons moved 15 times in four years, hoping to stave off the gangs threatening them.

But without police protection, it was impossible to keep her family safe.

Her older son finally fled on his own. Eventually, Blanca and her youngest son also had to leave. And in October 2017, they arrived in El Paso, asking for asylum.

That’s when the unthinkable happened.

Rather than place them in a family detention center or release them on bond, Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) separated Blanca and her child, putting her in detention and Luis in foster care.

This is a practice we never allowed before now. Until the Trump administration decided to use separation of parents from their children as a deterrent.

As you can imagine, it is heartbreaking to witness. Seeing a mother who has been separated from her child.

Blanca and her son Luis

If you’re a parent, you can especially understand the unimaginable pain.

But here’s where you come in. With your dose of hope.

ALDEA – the People’s Justice Center, a non-profit committed to representing separated families, decided to take on Blanca’s case pro bono. And they’re located in Reading, PA!

They had to fly to El Paso to visit Blanca, research their case, and attend her hearing. And on the day of Blanca’s hearing, something amazing happened. The judge ruled she had “credible fear” and ordered her released on bond of $7,500!

This doesn’t happen often with El Paso judges. And he set her bond at a reasonable amount, to boot. Believe it or not, the average is $20,000 or more.

But Blanca has no money.  So, ALDEA set up a GoFundMe account for her.

In little over a week, we have raised nearly three-fourths of the money we need.

This gives me hope.

So many good-hearted people who want to do the right thing by a mom desperately wanting to be with her son again.

So many people who believe in what is possible.

Will you join us in spreading this wave of hope for Blanca and Luis? Any amount you donate is greatly appreciated.

And it adds to the flow of positive energy to counter and balance all that negativity out there.

Blanca in detention (photo taken from Houston Chronicle article)

Here’s the link to the GoFundMe page: https://www.gofundme.com/FamilyReunificationBondFund

 

If you’re interested, here’s Blanca’s full story, as reported in the Houston Chronicle: http://www.houstonchronicle.com/news/houston-texas/houston/article/Her-husband-murdered-her-son-taken-away-a-12462658.php

Her husband murdered, her son taken away, a mother seeking asylum tells a judge, ‘I have lost everything’

 

Thank you for spreading hope.

 

A Boy from a “Shithole Country”

 

You may have a reaction to this vulgar term. Maybe you’re tired of hearing it already.

I get it.

But please stick with me. I have a story to tell. And it matters that you read this.

My new friend – I’ll call him Mathias – sleeps on a mattress so thin, he feels the cold steel of the springs underneath him. A bullet lodged into his left side presses into him, aggravated by the hard coils of his assigned bed. He tries to sleep only on his right, but even then, the pain barely diminishes. The bullet, put there long ago by police who were supposed to protect him.

Mathias is a 25-year-old asylum seeker from one of those African countries.

He’s not a criminal. Yet, he is a prisoner.

He’s one of the detainees I visit weekly at the El Paso Detention facility.

We’ve never hugged. I’ve not been able to touch his shoulder or squeeze his hand in support. Even though I’ve longed to.

I speak to Mathias from the other side of a glass. With a phone to my ear, my body hunched forward, as if straining will help me hear his words more clearly, I listen. To stories of hardship and trauma I’ve never known.

Stories of the challenges of living in confinement.

Stories of hope.

Because Mathias does have hope. Despite all he’s experienced.

He hopes in a country that values liberty, justice, and the dignity and right to life. He hopes in a court system that will do the right thing.

I wish I could share that hope.

Mathias was just a boy, away at school, when his entire family, threatened by corrupt police, fled the country.

It’s been years since he’s seen his mother.

He smiles when I come to see him, asks how my week was, if I’ve heard from my son, who’s only a year older than he is.

I think of Mathias’s mother, holed up in a refugee camp in Kenya. She didn’t get to say goodbye.

Mathias tried to live a “normal” life without his family. Continue school, then hold down a job, save money. But the police threatened him. He had to flee. By that time, crossing the border wasn’t easy. He couldn’t join his family in the camp. He had to get help.

His story of how he made it all the way to the El Paso port of entry is more than admirable. It’s an amazing story of the human spirit. Of faith, hope, trust.

He trusts in the promises of a free and democratic society.

Still. In spite of his shock that, after pouring out his story to Border Customs, they handcuffed him and tossed him in detention to await his fate.

And he’s not unusual.

More weary asylum seekers have been arriving at our ports of entry, fleeing violence from places as far as Cameroon, Ethiopia, the Congo, as well as from El Salvador and Guatemala. Countries that are not on the U.S. list of favorable places to migrate from.

Whether our president used those exact words or not to describe these countries is not the point. The real concern is his intention.

And ours.

Words like “refugee,” “asylum seeker,” and “immigrant” have become associated with something evil. Or, at least, something undesirable.

Yet international law supports asylum seekers. International law says a Government is prohibited from returning someone to their country if they will be subjected to torture or persecution or death. But a recent report compiled by human rights organizations at the border documents cases where we have not been following that law.

It shows that more punitive and inhumane deterrence practices are being implemented towards asylum seekers under this administration. More human rights violations are being recorded.

Surprisingly, the report also shows, El Paso courts have one of the highest denial rates for asylum seekers. It’s a sad reality that makes no sense.

Yet, the outcome of a case is determined by the judge assigned rather than the severity of the asylum seeker’s life-threatening situation and the credibility of their supporting documentation.

I may be going against the grain here, but I am actually praying that Mathias wins his asylum case and remains in the U.S.

I am praying that more and more of these violations come to light. And that they matter to people like you.

And I pray that one day winning an asylum case will not be a rare occurrence in many of our courts.

It’s worthwhile noting that National Right to Life Day is January 22. The right to life, the dignity of a life, extends to all human beings, not just the unborn. Not just those who were lucky enough to be born in the United States.

For me, Mathias – and thousands others like him – is the voiceless little one who needs me to stand up and say, you are a child of God. You have a right to live.

 

Living at Ground Zero

Ground Zero. “The front lines.” The “beachhead.”

This is how U.S. Attorney General Sessions described El Paso on his recent visit. Apparently, I’m living in the middle of a war zone.

“This is where we are making our stand,” Sessions added.

A stand in the battle to stop the drug cartels and gangs from coming into our country. Even though, in reality, El Paso is one of the safest cities in the U.S.  If Sessions is looking for gangs, he might want to search a little deeper in his territory up in Washington.

He’s also taking a strong stand against those who are trying to enter the country illegally. Sessions’ message for migrants and refugees was, “…you should do what over 1 million other immigrants do each year, wait your turn and come lawfully.”

That statement said it all to me. Either he is vastly misinformed, or he just doesn’t care that what he is saying is not possible.

Wait your turn and come lawfully?

First, no one who is fleeing for their lives or those of their children can “wait their turn.” Secondly, most people needing to migrate are not able to obtain “legal” entry, no matter how much paperwork they complete, how many hoops they jump through, and how long they are willing to wait.

Translated, I take his message to mean nobody’s going to be allowed in, we’re at war with immigrants, and El Paso is the beach of Normandy.

God help us.

Will all this hardline rhetoric and militaristic nationalism coming out of Washington protect us? Not likely.

But what it will do – and already has done – is put people at further risk. Further jeopardize people whose lives are in danger. Put us at war with other countries, whether figuratively or literally. And put us at war with each other. The latter is already happening on Twitter and other forms of social media, on college campuses, and on the streets among protesters.

Frankly, I’m tired of all the negative rhetoric. The divisive words. The messages of hate and separation. Especially when they’re applied to the border, to Mexicans, and to immigrants.

So, I’m turning the rhetoric around and recognizing El Paso for what it is.

Ground Zero for compassion. For hope.

Because the people of El Paso are some of the kindest, most generous, most compassionate, faith-filled people I know. Whether they are here “with papers” or not.

Imagine that. Compassion and hope.

Right here at the beachhead.

At Ground Zero I’ve learned a lot about what it means to serve others. To live my faith and follow the corporal works of mercy. If you’re not familiar with them, in Catholic teaching the corporal works of mercy are seven ways we can extend God’s compassion and mercy on earth – feed the hungry, give drink to the thirsty, clothe the naked, shelter the homeless, visit the imprisoned, visit the sick, and bury the dead.

The volunteers I work with in El Paso do this in innumerable ways.

 

Every day. Right here. From Ground Zero.

Imagine that.

 “Each time someone stands up for an ideal or acts to improve the lot of others…he sends forth a tiny ripple of hope.”  Robert Kennedy

I want to send forth this ripple. Live as a light of compassion. Rather than a voice of animosity and fear.

Imagine what that would be like. Imagine the possibilities.

“Hope looks at all things the way a mother looks at her child, with a passion for the possible.”     Br. David Steindl-Rast

Imagine.

This YouTube video of Pentatonix is a good place to start. You might call it ground zero.

 

 

 

A Promise in Post-Election Pandemonium

Hope. Love. Commitment.

I’ve settled on these three qualities. They’re what I will be carrying with me as we go forward into the next four years. Along with a promise, which I’ll get to in a minute.

Throughout the day following the election, I felt unable to completely focus. My heart laden, my mind racing with legitimate concerns.

For the vulnerable, for the marginalized. For the migrants and refugees whom I serve and for those who will be denied a much-needed haven here. For Muslims, especially Muslim Americans. For African-Americans. For the LGBT community. For women. For Mother Earth. For those who already face lives more difficult and painful than most of us will ever experience – in this country and far beyond.

Did I leave anyone out?

I prayed to be able to say yes. To all that I was feeling. To all that I was fearing.

The only prayers I could get out were, “Help.” And “Not my will but thine be done.”

Then I found myself remembering someone else who’d surrendered with those words.

I imagined the fear and helplessness Jesus must have felt.

And I realized I was looking at this from a smaller lens. Like a child fearing the next wave while missing the grandeur and beauty of an entire ocean that could lift her up.

And I began to hope.

Not the kind of hope that wants to believe everything will turn out the way I think it should.

Spiritual hope.

The kind of hope I remembered insight meditation teacher Tara Brach describing in one of her wonderful talks. The kind revealed to 14^th century Christian mystic Julian of Norwich who asked for an understanding of the suffering in this world.

 

There’s no mistaking. Donald Trump has brought to light the dark shadow of this country. A shadow that has been lurking under the surface all along. He did not cause it. He certainly triggered it and capitalized on it. And he seems to live unaware of its existence within himself.

But unless we bring what is hidden in darkness into the light, it cannot be healed and transformed.

I find hope in that possibility.

I also pray for its realization.

Last night I gathered with my newfound Mexican indigenous “sisters” for a “supermoon” full moon prayer ritual. We came together with a prayer intention of sending love and light to our president-elect Donald Trump, to his team, for our country, and our world. It truly was a light-filled ceremony of releasing and surrendering. Of opening to Spirit’s power and love.

Pray.

That’s something we can all do going forward.

And I feel I must do more. Given the dangerous, divisive attitudes in our country and the groundswell of hate that has erupted.

So, I have made a post-election promise:

I will keep my heart and mind open.

I will be devoted and committed to self-introspection, to paying attention to my own shadow.

I will listen to those with different views and engage in nonviolent dialogue and behavior.

Yet, I will not stand idly by while someone of a different race, sexual orientation, or religion is insulted or threatened.

I will not be indifferent.

I will not be silent in the face of injustice, bigotry, or worse.

I will continue to serve those in need, to do the work I do for migrants and refugees, no matter the consequences.

I will be quiet enough to listen to God within me, and act from that wiser, contemplative place.

Most importantly, I will live by the law of love. The spiritual law of brotherhood.

Love God. Love neighbor. That will always come first. Before any law of the land.

As Richard Rohr said in his post-election message: “We who know about universal belonging and identity in God have a different form of power: Love (even of enemies) is our habitat, not the kingdoms of this world.

“Only a contemplative mind can hold our fear, confusion, vulnerability, and anger and guide us toward love. Let’s use this milestone moment to begin again with confidence and true inner freedom and to move out into the world with compassion.” (Rohr’s full article is available on the Center for Action and Contemplation website at cac.org)

I go forward with compassion, empowered in my true identity.

With hope in the One who loves us beyond our current understanding.

Committed to speak out and to stand by all my brothers and sisters.

Because we are One. And all lives matter.

Girl Imprisoned

Just four days. That’s all I had on my recent trip back to El Paso. Four short days in which I experienced so many emotions. And witnessed more heartbreak.

On the very first night my friend Beth asked if I wanted to go to the detention facility with her. The one for adult undocumented immigrants. She planned to visit a 19-year-old woman from Guatemala named Yennifer.

I didn’t get all the details, but somehow when Yennifer and her mom and younger sister presented themselves to Border Patrol seeking asylum, a misunderstanding ensued. And Yennifer stepped too far into an area where she shouldn’t have gone. Border Patrol arrested her. Got her to admit she had committed a felony by entering this country without documents.

Now she wears an orange jumpsuit. And waits for her fate to be determined. Her mom and sister have moved on to New York. They couldn’t stay in El Paso. After ICE processed their papers, they had to go to their designated relative where they’ll have their court date. But without Yennifer. She remains alone, confined, and scared.

Beth warned me how distraught this young woman has been. I could only imagine. I thought of myself at 19. Certainly not ready emotionally to be separated from my mom in a foreign country. Not to mention being placed in a prison.

Because a detention facility is a prison.

The night Beth and I visit we have to leave everything behind except our licenses. And we hand those over to the guard at the front desk. Then we wait for the heavy locked door to open and the guard to call our names. He escorts us down a narrow hallway lined with small cubicles until we come to the one where we’ll meet Yennifer. Soon a pretty young Latina woman appears on the other side of a glass pane. Her dark hair piled atop her head in a neat bun. She smiles as soon as she sees Beth.

Yennifer sits down and picks up the phone to talk. Just like you see in the movies. I watch her sweet face from behind the glass, so animated as she tells Beth about the spicy food that she can’t eat. (Contrary to what you might think, not all Latinos like spicy food like the Mexicans do.)

At times her expression makes her look so much like a little girl, I want to cry. I try not to think about what’s going to happen. Chances are Yennifer will be deported. Sent home without her mother and sister. I wonder how she’ll get back to Guatemala. What will happen to her while traveling alone? If I were her mother, I don’t know how I’d stand it. Not knowing what will happen to my daughter.

After we leave, Beth tells me what a complete changeover in Yennifer’s spirits we’ve just seen. How the past couple of weeks when she’s visited her,Yennifer’s cried and looked depressed. But this girl’s got faith. The night Border Patrol arrested her— pulled her away from her mother and sister—they put Yennifer in a holding cell. In isolation. Panicked and sobbing, the girl fell to her knees and prayed. Begged God to help her. Within less than an hour, the guard came to get her. Said she didn’t belong in isolation. They’d made a mistake.

Truth is, Yennifer’s situation is not unusual. I saw families separated a lot when I volunteered at the migrant hospitality center.

In fact, a recent study I read on immigration abuse reported that, in addition to experiencing physical abuse, family members that were apprehended together by Border Patrol were systematically separated from each other. Two out of three migrants surveyed who crossed into the U.S. with immediate family members were separated from at least one of those family members by the Border Patrol during the process of detention and deportation.

There’s little I can do to help Yennifer. But I can bring her situation to light. And I can hope that others will care. Care about the immigrant children and youth who are being locked up for indiscriminate amounts of time. Care enough to learn more about the reasons why people are migrating. And care about one beautiful butterfly with deep brown eyes longing to be released from her cage.

Women and Children First

Remember the movie The Unsinkable Molly Brown? Just the other day I was thinking about that scene on the Titanic’s lifeboat where Debbie Reynolds, who plays the colorful Molly Brown, gives up her fur coat and then her dress to keep those women and children from freezing. Back in the days of the Titanic, when lives were threatened, putting women and children on lifeboats first was an “unwritten law.”

It was the humane thing to do.

Guess that image came to mind because since I’ve been home, I can’t forget them. I mean the women, especially the mothers, and children I met  and heard about in Texas. And there’s something else I can’t forget. The inhumane treatment many of them experienced, either in crossing the border or after they arrived.

Like the Guatemalan woman who was kidnapped in Mexico, where she was abused and raped for months until she managed to escape. By the time she made it to San Diego she was 8 months pregnant. After ICE processed her information, an agent shackled her — chains around her wrists and ankles — and put her on a plane to El Paso. The chains encircling her ankles were so tight, they broke the skin. By the time she got off the plane, she was bleeding and in pain. The ICE agent in El Paso asked her why she hadn’t said anything to the agent on the plane.

“I did tell him it was hurting me,” she said.

I guess the threat that a woman 8-months pregnant posed was too much of a risk to loosen those chains.

And then there are the women and children who are transferred to so-called family detention centers. Texas has two of these privately run facilities, holding thousands of mothers and children, including babies. It’s basically akin to putting them in prison. Some have been incarcerated since last fall.

Sr. Pat, who volunteers at the Dilley detention facility near San Antonio, told me of a woman she’d met who had been there since August! It’s strange how even violent criminals have a right to due process in this country. But not immigrant mothers whose only “crime” is showing up at the border.

Sr. Pat says the children are losing weight. They can’t eat the food the facility serves. There’s a commissary, but if a mom wants to buy her child juice, it costs $4. She says more than one attorney who has come to speak with the women about their case has anonymously added money to their client’s commissary account.

What gets to me the most is the traumatizing affect this environment is having on innocent children. And the fact that we are basically punishing them and their mothers, many of whom have legitimate cases for asylum. This from a country that prides itself on promoting justice and defending human rights.

The New York Times had an excellent editorial on this subject last week. You can find it at http://mobile.nytimes.com/2015/05/15/opinion/end-immigration-detention.html?action=click&pgtype=Homepage&module=opinion-c-col-left-region%C2%AEion=opinion-c-col-left-region&WT.nav=opinion-c-col-left-region&_r=1&referrer

Thankfully, more people are speaking out against the inhumane practices of family detention centers. Women and children should not be treated this way. Certainly not by one of the wealthiest nations in the world.

Like Molly Brown, we can be wealthy, and kind and compassionate, too. There’s room in our lifeboat for these women and children.

mock up detention “room” at Voice of the Voiceless fundraiser