"I'll Praise My Maker While I've Breath"

A few weeks after 40 people died in a horrifying fire in a migrant detention center in Ciudad Juárez, our Abara team found ourselves amid an unfolding humanitarian crisis. In the middle of this darkness, Rosi, our team lead in Juárez, felt a deep conviction that we needed to start feeding people. Many families had nowhere to go and little to eat. These families who had fled their countries were now sleeping on the streets, some waiting in shock for word of loved ones. The majority of them were escaping violence, poverty, or persecution in their own homelands. With initial minimal help from a supporting entity, food was purchased, cooked by a Venezuelan chef at a church migrant shelter for men, and then delivered each night by volunteers to those in greatest need. Most of the volunteers were themselves seeking asylum and in only a slightly better position than those on the streets. One of the gentlest, kindest volunteers was missing a hand. 

One night, we pulled up to an unfinished abandoned concrete building that was now sheltering hundreds. Inside were makeshift rooms created with blankets or cardboard, and the sporadic glow of small fires in cans. As we honked the horn, people quietly emerged from the structure, lined up and stretched down the block past a giant heap of garbage. The tragedy, the sadness, the bitterness of pain and loss, was palpable. Everyone felt it. In the midst of this heavy moment, a young man emerged from the building with a worn-out guitar. He started singing joyously, first to the chef who had cooked the food, then to Rosi by name, thanking her and God and blessing all those who had come to serve. The crowd slowly joined in, clapping, some kids dancing, and singing along. It was a sacred and electric moment. In that moment, joy broke through the sorrow, and I heard every single person express their heartfelt thanks to the volunteers as they picked up their food.

That night it felt like death had no victory. It felt like joy was not in opposition to suffering but part of what gives us the strength to endure it. Those we encountered that evening could not hope in that moment to rely on their own accomplishments, talents or possessions. Yet joy showed up in song, in gratitude, in a shared meal. Joy was a sacred defiance against despair. Psalm 146 says, “The Lord gives justice to people who are oppressed…bread to people who are starving…protects immigrants…helps orphans and widows… ” Even in the darkest times God is present. Even in the shadow of death, beauty can rise and hope endures. I pray that my life is permeated with a joy that becomes an act of resistance and a faith in God’s eternal love.