About two months ago, I said goodbye to some of my best friends.  I wrote letters, crafted poems, and put together gifts to express how much each of these friends and coworkers meant to me.  Then, with a tight jaw and head full of mixed emotions, I stepped on a plane and left Tucson.  I said goodbye to a city that opened my eyes to oppression, nurtured and empowered me.  I said goodbye to a program that encouraged me to live a deliberate and examined life.  I said goodbye to an intentional community full of colorful, diverse, and loving characters.  I said goodbye to a set of written agreements that dictated how I should live: simply, spiritually, and with a focus on cross-cultural service.

I got on a plane heading for, what they call, “the real world.”  As I sailed through the sky, I thought about all the wonderful experiences I had shared during my year of mission.  Grateful for the opportunities to travel to border towns in Mexico, hike in the Grand Canyon, and retreat in the forest of New Mexico, I felt warm inside.  I have never been so quickly and strongly welcomed in a community as I was in Tucson.  I am so thankful for my Young Adult Volunteer community, my BorderLinks coworkers, and the Tucson social justice community.  Many of my peers had moved to Tucson specifically to get involved in immigration work and are deeply passionate about their work.  One of the things I miss most about being in Tucson is having a directed sense of purpose.  On the border, problems were so explicit and immediate. This was overwhelming at times, but I had a clear sense of my role in raising awareness of border issues. 

Now, back in the San Francisco Bay Area, I belong to a community where people have a wider variety of interests ranging from literature to technology to education.  Transitioning back into not-so-intentional living has been a positive change, but definitely a challenging adjustment.  I feel almost as if my eyes were focused on a 250-piece puzzle.  This puzzle of immigration and race issues was complex, all consuming, and important.  Many of my friends and coworkers were gathered around me helping put pieces together and pointing out challenges. Moving back home has forced me to zoom out from this 250-piece puzzle and see where it lies within a much larger puzzle.  I don't know what puzzle I am working on now.  Above me are people working on a segment of the puzzle that is focused on creating new efficient apps.  To my side, people are working on improving public education.  Below me people are designing new luxury apartments.  We are all working on our own puzzles and sometimes we forget that they are all connected, making one huge infinite puzzle.

Even so, I have merely moved out of one bubble or community and into a another one.  I stepped out of border-focused activist central into startup technology-mania.  Obviously there are many cultures, subcultures and ways of living in Tucson and in the Bay Area, but here are some of the differences I have noticed.  Instead of seeing Border Patrol trucks, I see luxury busses filled with Google employees.  Instead of thinking, “How can we spend so little?” I think, “How can we spend so much?”  Instead of eating expired food, I eat organic food.  Instead of hearing “Resist!” I hear “Disrupt!”

Yet many things are the same.  Many social issues that were in Tucson are also in my hometown of San Mateo.  Being on the border has opened my eyes to things I wouldn’t have noticed before.  For example, last summer I read many articles about the wave of unaccompanied minors who crossed the border.  Little did I know that many of these migrants came to San Mateo and enrolled in the local high schools.  I only learned this recently while speaking to a local principal about potential job opportunities.  Sometimes you are most blind to what is happening in your own city.

When I feel disconnected or confused, I sometimes think about my coworker in Tucson, Gabriel.*  During our educational trips, we would often cross the border into Mexico to learn more about the culture, economy and community.   After crossing, Gabriel would take over guiding the group and teaching us about the local issues of his hometown, Nogales, Mexico.  Gabriel and I quickly became friendly, as he invited me to his church and introduced me to his family.  Together, we led and organized several trips.  One day, while we were driving he asked me where exactly I lived in California.  When, I said, “San Mateo,” his eyebrows raised in surprise.  “I was there last summer,” he said.  “There wasn’t work here so I went to San Mateo to work as a gardener.  I lived with my daughter on Tilton and San Mateo Drive.”

Although familiar, his words made me feel uncomfortable.  I suddenly realized that while I had been working on building bridges of understanding on the border, I had forgotten about the dynamics of my hometown, San Mateo.  Last summer while I had been fundraising and preparing to my year of mission, he had been working as an undocumented laborer cutting grass and blowing leaves.  Maybe we had passed each while walking around San Mateo downtown and did not know.  Thinking about this saddened me, not because of the missed connection, but because if we had met in San Mateo, I’m not sure we would have developed a friendship.  It is unlikely we would have gotten the opportunity to work together as peers.

Due to economic, cultural, and social boundaries, our paths would probably not have crossed in San Mateo, even though we lived just a few blocks from one another.  The border wall of El Camino Real separates my wealthy, white neighborhood from his working class, immigrant neighborhood.  In many ways, we could have lived parallel lives, on two different tracks that barely cross.  I would have missed opportunity to learn from him and become a part of his life.

During my year of service, I though a lot about the borders, visible and invisible, that are present in our everyday lives.  I also thought about Jesus’s defiant efforts to break barriers and welcome all to the table.  I am still exploring what this means for me, especially in San Mateo, but I think that unity and understanding are built through relationships. Gabriel taught me about his home and, without trying, opened my eyes and taught me about my own home.  After spending four years away at college and a year working in Arizona as a YAV, I am now discovering my home again.  Thanks to people like Gabriel, I am more aware of border issues both in Tucson and in San Mateo.  Although there are new buzzwords, new puzzles and a new community here I am confident that I’ll find my place.  Through this transition, I am trying to remain positive, patient, and, well, graceful.

*Name changed for privacy

Like most people in the United States, I was heartbroken when I learned about the slaying of nine members of the Emanuel A.M.E. Church in Charleston, South Carolina.  I was overwhelmed by this event, especially due to it's significance within a history of violence against Black churches and Black people.  Living on the border, I have begun to fully realize, for the first time, the ways in which our society consistently marginalizes and abuses people of color.  On the border, this racism is embodied in unjust immigration policies, racial profiling, and the death, detainment, and deportation of mainly Latino migrants.  On the border and in our nation, this racism is embodied in the death and incarceration of countless young Black men, hate crimes, and unequal access to education, job opportunities, and healthcare for people of color.  Recently, these injustices have felt almost unbearable for me.  As a privileged White woman, I am not as aware of these inequities because I do not have to face them everyday.  I merely wake up to these injustices, ever time there is a large national events.





















As an educated college student, I naively thought I was knowledgable about these issues as I had learned about institutionalized racism, slavery, and various forms of oppression in classes.  But it is very different when you are surrounded and immersed by issues of race.  These issues affect you differently when your friend tells to you about leaving a job because they were racist towards her.  These issues cut more deeply when you tell someone your roommate doesn't like hiking and they assume it's because she's Black.  You start to see patterns when your friend is denied a driver's license and a college education because of his immigration status.  It startles you when you realize you haven't had to learn about or protest this because you are White.  Our society usually caters to you with you having to do anything.

Amidst these daunting, depressing thoughts and realizations, I have found strength in my YAV community, my church, and the Tucson activist circles.  The Sunday after the Charleston shooting, my pastor, Rev. Bart Smith of St. Mark's Presbyterian Church, compared the gigantic monster of racism to Goliath from the story of David and Goliath.  We are David and we must be brave, patient, and purposeful as we throw little stones at the beast's head.  As Bart held up a small river rock, he reminded us that the monster of racism is not only external, it also resides in the deep, dark cavities of our heart.  We must work to cleanse ourselves of our own prejudices as well as working in community.

Recently, I listened to President Obama's eulogy for Reverend Clementa Pinckney, one of the pastors of Emanuel A.M.E. Church.  It gave me much hope, clarity, and peace.  I strongly recommend listening to his wise words.  I'd like to reflect of some of things he said.



"Clem was often asked why he chose to be a pastor and a public servant. But the person who asked probably didn’t know the history of AME Church.  As our brothers and sisters in the AME Church, we don’t make those distinctions. “Our calling,” Clem once said, “is not just within the walls of the congregation but the life and community in which our congregation resides.”

I deeply respect the AME Church for the longstanding commitment to fight for justice for all people.  During my YAV year, I have had the opportunity to worship in churches like Southside Presbyterian Church and St. Mark's Presbyterian Church who try to live out the gospel every day of the week, not just on Sunday morning.  They live out their faith by providing sanctuary for migrants, putting water out in the desert, visiting migrants in detention, and advocating for humane policies.

"We do not know whether the killer of Reverend Pinckney and eight others knew all of this history, but he surely sensed the meaning of his violent act. It was an act that drew on a long history of bombs and arson and shots fired at churches, not random but as a means of control, a way to terrorize and oppress, an act that he imagined would incite fear and recrimination, violence and suspicion, an act that he presumed would deepen divisions that trace back to our nation’s original sin.

Oh, but God works in mysterious ways.
God has different ideas.
He didn’t know he was being used by God.

Blinded by hatred, the alleged killer would not see the grace surrounding Reverend Pinckney and that Bible study group, the light of love that shown as they opened the church doors and invited a stranger to join in their prayer circle.

The alleged killer could have never anticipated the way the families of the fallen would respond when they saw him in court in the midst of unspeakable grief, with words of forgiveness.  [Video below]  He couldn’t imagine that."






When I learned about the shooting, the first thing I thought was, "Why? Why would God let this happen this to His people?"  Although I do not believe that Dylan Roof's actions were part of a divine  plan or necessary for people to come together, I do believe God works in mysterious ways. I was blown away when I heard the victim's families forgiving Roof, just days after he had murdered their loved ones.  God's grace and love are boundless and impossible to predict or define.

According to the Christian tradition, grace is not earned. Grace is not merited. It’s not something we deserve. Rather, grace is the free and benevolent favor of God.... By taking down that flag, we express God’s grace.

This has helped me understand my name, Grace, as an action.  We can embody God's grace through racial reconciliation, by loving our neighbors, advocating for our neighbors and fighting for a Kingdom-like world alongside our neighbors.

Below are some questions I am still pondering.  If you have any ideas or answers please let me know.

Why would God create a world where such horrible things happen?
How can we forgive people while still holding them accountable for their hurtful actions?
How can I, as an ally, express God's grace?

We go to Southside Presbyterian Church in Tucson to learn about the Sanctuary movement and attend vigils to show our support for Rosa (middle in black jacket) who is currently in sanctuary there.

We talk to Border Patrol or Immigration Customs Control about their work and policies surrounding migration, smuggling, and border security.

We share meals and conversation with local families in Nogales, Mexico. 

This is just the tip of the iceberg, but I hope it helps explain what I have been focussing on this year.  Delegations can be emotionally, intellectually, and physically exhausting but also extremely rewarding.  I enjoy learning and teaching through experiences and hands-on workshops.  It has been an honor to facilitate discussions and reflections where my participants open up about their backgrounds and assumptions.  The act of being present with people as they reflect on their religion, government, and privilege has been truly eye opening gift.  

We take selfies.

Some people spend Valentine's Day kissing their boyfriends.  Some spend the day bingeing on chocolates with their gal pals.  I spent the day speaking about migrant justice at University Presbyterian Church in Tempe, Arizona.  This church graciously invited the Tucson YAVs to be their weekend guests during Mission Month.  We led a workshop on Solidarity, Charity and Advocacy, preached, spoke during Adult Education and went on a short hike with the youth group.  I'm thankful  for the opportunity to share my reflections on my year service.

The four Tucson YAVs, Allie, Emily, Hanbyeol, and I preached a sermon together.  First, we read a poem called Passover Remember, which we first heard during YAV Orientation in August.  Then, we used different verses to individually reflect on the our experiences during the first half of our YAV year.

Below is my part of the sermon.  Click here to hear a recording of our sermon.  


Do not hesitate to leave
Your old ways behind –
Fear, silence, submission

… Then begin quickly,
before you have time to sink back
into the old slavery

Why do we feel the need to create borders?  How do we build equal and respectful relationships with people who are unlike us?  How can I work as an ally with those who are oppressed? What does modern day slavery look like? These are some of the questions I’ve grappled with during my year of service with Young Adult Volunteers. 

I have been blessed with the opportunity to serve at BorderLinks, where I organize and lead educational trips about the border.  During the last six months, I have spent time with a wide variety of people who have taught me more than I could have imagined. 

While observing the 25-foot border wall that separates Mexico and the United States, I have prayed with seminarians, reflected with teenagers, and taken pictures with retirees.  I have led workshops for squirmy middle schoolers where we explore what the words “immigrant,” “border”, or “family” mean to them.  Brave migrants have told me their harrowing testimonies at shelters in border towns like Nogales and Agua Prieta, Sonora.  I’ve wept as a woman recounted her experience of crossing the desert, getting detained by Border Patrol, and separated from her husband.  I have visited migrants at Florence Detention Center who migrated north to escape cartel violence in Honduras and Guatemala.  I have felt the panic that constricts your chest when you learn that your friend’s undocumented husband was just detained.  In the last few months, the border has come a part of me.  It is present in my thoughts, my tears, my worries, and my prayers.

In addition to learning about the challenges on the border, I had the chance to meet people who are bringing human dignity back to this region.  Raul, one of my friends and coworkers, spent last Christmas in a cold detention center, visiting detainees who have no one else to support them.  My friend, Josue, grew up undocumented, and is now organizing with other young migrants to get more access to higher education.  My local Presbyterian church, Southside, has opened its door to provide sanctuary to an undocumented mother so she can stay with her two boys and husband. 

Amidst the darkness, I have also witnessed a powerful display of God’s love in the borderlands.  We are lucky to be part of a community of students, pastors, church members, atheists, migrants, and allies who have bonded together to turn barriers into bridges and make our earth look more like God’s kingdom.  As the Bible says in Ephesians 2: 13-15,  “But now in Christ Jesus, you who once were far away have been brought near by the blood of Christ.  For he himself is our peace, who has made the two groups one and has destroyed the barrier, the dividing wall of hostility, by setting aside in his flesh the law with its commands and regulations.”  

During the last six months, my eyes have opened, my heart has ached, and my resolve has been strengthened.  With the support of my fellow volunteers and coworkers, I have begun to acknowledge my privilege, my citizenship and the effects of my country’s policies.

My work here has encouraged me not to “sink back into the old slavery” of injustice, prejudice, and ignorance.  I truly believe that the most radical act of love is to introduce people to each other.  If be build relationships, we realize we are linked.  Their struggle is our struggle.  Our society’s borders affect us all by perpetuating division, fear, and even hatred.  If we leave behind our fear, silence and submission we can reach a state of collective liberation where we are all free. 

After Community Day, we went downtown to celebrate Halloween!

Recently, I was at a Migrant Resource Center in Agua Prieta, Mexico sharing a meal with a migrant family.  I was there as a part of an intense study of border issues and ministries on the Douglas, Arizona/ Agua Prieta, Sonora area.  Although, I had spent the whole week with a large group of Young Adult Volunteers from the Tucson and Denver, this moment was all about the family sitting across from me.

As we ate our pasta and sipped our sugar-infused juice, we began to talk about where we came from and why we were here in the dusty border town of Agua Prieta.  The father of the family, Ronald*, was charismatic and friendly.  His big green eyes glittered as he excitedly told me that he and his family of four were going to cross the border in the upcoming week.  His glee was uncontainable.  Ronald and his wife, Maria*, animatedly walked me through the details of their itinerary.   

When their coyote (human smuggler or guide depending on your perspective) contacted them, they would drive out into the desert where they would climb over the border wall using a ladder.  Then, they would walk through the harsh terrain, in the dark to the closest American town, Bisbee.  When they assured me it was only a ten-hour hike, I began to get uncomfortable.  This would be a fast-paced hike.  Ronald described how they would have to follow the exact footsteps of their guide to avoid alerting Border Patrol motion detectors or heat sensors.  After arriving in Bisbee, they planned on taking a van to Phoenix, then Las Vegas, and finally Indianapolis to meet his sister.  I wondered how they would do this, as there are Border Patrol checkpoints on the only road out of Bisbee where the guards check for identification.  Maybe they’ll take a dirt road.  Maybe they’ll hide in the trunk or under the floorboards of the car as some migrants do…

By now my heart was racing. I was worried for their safety and worried that their coyote had mislead them so I asked, “Is it worth it for you to endure this dangerous trip?” Ronald replied with an absolute, “Yes.”  Even though he is leaving a good job as a nuclear electrician and his eldest son is leaving college, he believes he can have a better life in the United States.  This family lived in Veracruz, one of the most violent states in Mexico.  Ronald and Maria said they live in constant fear of the cartels.  Ronald confidently said, “I would rather be captured by Border Patrol than the cartels any day.”  Having a good job in Veracruz actually makes him a liability, as the cartels are most likely to extort money from him.  It is a paradoxical situation with little hope of changing any time soon.

After we finished dinner, I thanked Ronald and his family for their honest conversation and wished them the best on their journey.  But saying, “Safe travels” did not suffice.  I kept thinking about them, worrying about them, and praying for them.

“Dear God,

Please let Ronald, Maria, and their two sons find a peaceful, dignified life.  Please help them find their way through the desert.  May they be protected from abuse from their guide or Border Patrol.  God, everyone deserves a dignified life and an opportunity to raise their family without fearing for their lives.  Please protect this family and help them safely reach their destination.”

And what happens if they make it to their final destination?  If they find jobs they will forever work in the shadow class, afraid of deportation.  Will the son who was in University in Mexico, be able to get an American education or will he be resigned to minimum wage labor for the rest of his life?

Even if this family fears deportation and works hard for low wages, this is probably better than living under the reign of a violent cartel.  Due to my privileged and limited perspective, I did not realize that what may seem horrible to me may be a relief to another person who has suffered far greater challenges than I have.

This is blind privilege is one of the many reasons why we do not know how to “secure” our border.  In the 90s, Operation Gatekeeper and other similar policies were enacted to reduce illegal immigration.  The Border Patrol focused its resources on securing metropolitan areas, while leaving the unpopulated desert areas less patrolled.  The official plan was “attrition through deterrence” as Homeland Security thought that the desert would be a natural and obvious boundary for migrants.  This thought process makes sense when coming from a privileged American who is unaware of the conditions of poverty and violence in parts of Mexico.  Yes, desperate hardworking people who cannot find jobs or fear their lives will cross, even if it means risking their lives.  In fact, many people like Ronald see the cacti-laden desert to be a small challenge compared to their daily lives back home.

We will not be able to create just, holistic immigration reform until American politicians are aware of the root causes of immigration to the US, the current socio-political climate in Mexico and Central America, and what people are willing to give up.  Ronald sacrificed his job, home, and son’s college education to climb a wall, walk in the dark, and work minimum wage jobs in hopes of a safer, more dignified future.

Ephesians 2: 11-22
Jew and Gentile Reconciled Through Christ

“Therefore, remember that formerly you are Gentiles by birth and called ‘uncircumcised’ by those who call themselves ‘the circumcision’ (which is done in the body by human hands)- remember that at that time you were separate from Christ, excluded from citizenship in Israel and foreigners to the covenants of the promise, without hope and without God in the world.  But now in Christ Jesus, you who once were far away have been brought near by the blood of Christ.  For he himself is our peace, who has made the two groups one and has destroyed the barrier, the dividing wall of hostility, by setting aside in his flesh the law with its commands and regulations.  His purpose was to create in himself one new humanity out of the two, thus making peace, and in one body to reconcile both of them to God through the cross, by which he put to death their hostility.  He came and preached peace to you who were near.  For through him we both have access to the Father by one Spirit.

Consequently, you are no longer foreigners and strangers, but fellow citizens with God’s people and also members of his household, built on the foundation of the apostle and prophets, with Christ Jesus himself as the chief cornerstone. In him the whole building is joined together and rises to become a holy temple in the Lord. And in him, you too are being built together to become a dwelling in which God live by his Spirit.

*For the privacy of these individuals, I have changed their names.