Migrant Shelter - Ana's Story

On the first day, after learning “Immigration 101” and then crossing the border, we shuffled into a building attached to a migrant shelter. There, we heard from Ana* - as she shared her story of heartbreak and grief, tragedy and loss. Somewhere, among all of it, was also beauty: courage and faith and honesty directly shining through. 

Ana’s story: With her parents migrating to the US when she was three, Ana herself lived with her grandparents in Honduras while growing up. She communicated with her parents by phone or through letters, and she expressed a deep love for them. Several years ago, her grandma passed away, and shortly after that, her grandpa fell ill. Ana served as his primary caretaker, caring for him through countless hospital stays, holding his hand as he passed. Some of his last words to her were, “I am going to leave you my inheritance. Be careful.” At his passing, her troubles began. 

His words rang true - Ana’s extended family turned hostile, wanting the inheritance. They verbally and physically abused her - often assaulting her, once attempting to choke her to death. Ana went to the police, but they denied her story, refusing to help. Without a safe government and with limited options, Ana fled. She found a coyote (a human smuggler) to help her make it to the US-Mexico border. This journey is often perilous - statistically, data is now revealing, at least 60% of girls are raped on the journey, often by the smugglers themselves or their associated gangs. Ana described the journey as “horrible”: going days with limited food or water, surviving an attempted rape at gunpoint. She finally made it to the border, sought asylum, and was taken to a US detention facility. After everything she experienced, she described the three days held there as some of the worst days of her life. Over and over again she expressed, “They treated us like animals.” She couldn’t voice the curses the guards hurled at her without crying. 

As with other migrants, Ana was then released to the streets of Mexico to wait for her next court date; as is common, a gang stood waiting to abduct her. She fled with a friend, and they escaped by taking refuge in a church before eventually finding their way to the migrant shelter, where we met. 

Ana sat before us, a crowd of women, and shared her story with such vulnerability and bravery. It was an honor, so weighty, to hear her share of heartbreak and trauma, fear and hope. Ana and I are less than a year apart in age; her story could be mine, and we certainly would be friends if we grew up as neighbors.

I’ve thought often of homelessness, of what it would mean to live without a shelter, without a respite. I’d never before thought of what it would mean to be country-less: unable to return to a home country, unable to stay in Mexico, unwelcome in the United States. 

Ana has no place to lay her head; she has no place to belong. Without a lawyer and in light of current policy, she has almost zero chance of being granted protection: she is stuck, helpless. She would return only to abuse in Honduras, she has no options in Mexico, and she will likely not be granted asylum in the US. And yet - even here, she expressed a deep faith in God, an assurance of His provision, and a gratitude for His protection (!) in her life. I have been praying for a faith like hers.

Ana’s story reminds me of Jesus, of how he also had no place to lay his head. It reminds me of how he delighted in loving the vulnerable, of how he flipped conventional wisdom on its head, of how he boldly called people like Ana the most blessed. 

Today, when I think of who Jesus delights in the most, I think of Ana, and I think of her story. When I consider who I should love the most too, I think of Ana. The kingdom of heaven will be filled with Ana's, I know. I can’t separate my faith from theirs, and I don’t I want to, either. 

I also don’t want to miss these men and women now, this side of heaven. I wonder how often I have missed them, missed Jesus. If we see Jesus more clearly in the outcast - how can we keep bringing the outcast in? Align our lives toward love, turn our hearts towards compassion? Gain eyes that see more clearly?

I have spent weeks now reflecting on Ana and her story. I don’t have answers, or a way to lighten the weight of her story by making it tidy. I only have questions to ponder, reflections to lay before Jesus’ feet as I ask him to move - in Ana’s life, and in mine, and in our churches, and in our nation. Because he is faithful, I believe he will - and when my faith is not strong enough to believe this, I will look to women like Ana, and I will pray for a faith like theirs.